


The Loveliest Lies of All

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Bullying, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One-Shots, Poetic Bee - Freeform, Post OTGW, Pre OTGW, Sickfic, brother bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles and one-shots based off of prompts, focusing on Wirt and Greg after, during, and before their time in The Unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick as a Frog

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are mostly unrelated to the universe I've been writing in, though things like this first one can be included in it. The first three prompts I'll be putting up here have been taken from my tumblr, skimmingmilk, and have been tagged under skimmilk stories and otgw fanfiction. If you would like to make requests, but would rather do so outside of Tumblr, then I will take them on here from the comments as well! Please keep in mind that the Tumblr requests will be taken care of first since I have quite a bit already waiting to be written, but I will get to them when I can. Or if something strikes me as particularly inspiring, I may make exceptions then. 
> 
> From Anonymous: "...Wirt taking care of a sick Greg..."

A tiny cough crossed from one room into another. It was the kind of cough that broke the willpower of even the strongest people, paving the way for more uncontrollable, chest-heaving, dry hacking fits. Sure enough, after that first little cough, a series of eight more reached Wirt’s ears through his open bedroom door.

“Hm.” He pursed his lips, brow furrowing as he peered over the top of his yellowing, dog-eared copy of Chaucer’s _The Canterbury Tales_ to stare at his doorway.

He was curled up on his bed, knees bent and shoulders hunched for the optimum, engrossed reading experience and really, really wasn’t up for moving any time soon. Listening for any other sounds that could cut his reading experience short, Wirt relaxed when silence and the occasional tapping of a drum or trumpeting fanfare continued to be the soundtrack of the empty house.

It was Saturday, which meant Jonathan was at the music shop downtown giving lessons in everything from the bassoon to the tuba while his mom was out having lunch and catching up with some friends, leaving Wirt home alone for the entire afternoon.

A loud, off-key trumpet blast made him cringe mid-sentence. Well, home alone with Greg, though lately he didn’t mind the role of babysitter being thrust upon him. Even if it meant having to put up with things like Greg’s ragtag band practice. Ever since Wirt had joined the school marching band, his younger brother’s newest obsession in brass and wind instruments took over the lives of everyone in the Palmer-Whelan household.

Wirt was debating grabbing his headset from his table so he could read in peace for a few minutes when the trumpet was cut off by an even harsher coughing fit. That didn’t sound healthy. This time he folded the page and set _The Canterbury Tales_ on his nightstand.

“Greg?” he called, sliding forward on his bed, legs dangling over the edge.

The coughing that answered him sounded like it could’ve been his name at some point, so Wirt got up and shuffled across the hall. He poked his head into Greg’s bedroom, wary of entering without scoping out a proper path first. If his own room was a mess, then Greg’s was a warzone. Sure enough, building blocks, Legos, train tracks, stuffed animals, and more littered the carpeted floor along with the toy instruments set up in some sort of weird formation. Percussion would not be in front of the string instruments- but that wasn’t the issue, was it?

Wirt frowned as he looked over the reason for his investigation in the first place. Greg sat in the middle of his messy room, trumpet in hand and face a bit peaky. Had it not been for the coughing that caught his attention, it might not have been enough to tell, but as soon as Greg’s glassy-eyed gaze landed on the older brother, he knew.

“Hey, Wirt.” Greg smiled and waved, with the hand holding his trumpet. “You wanna join the band with me and Jason Funderberker?”

Jason Funderberker croaked from his spot at the battery-powered keyboard, the frog’s voice not so different from what came from Greg’s throat. “Maybe later,” Wirt replied, turning his attention back to his little brother. “You feeling okay, Greg?”

“Yeah. I’m feeling grea-” He suddenly sucked in his cheeks and held his breath, his chest hitching with the repressed cough bouncing around inside it. “Great,” he managed to exhale without giving in.

“Uh huh.” Wirt pursed his lips, then carefully picked his way over to Greg’s side.

He crouched down next to him. Greg was so focused on not coughing that he didn’t notice Wirt’s hand against his forehead until it was too late. The younger brother pushed his arm away and tried to protest, but all that came out was a series of coughs, still dry and rough. Wirt winced, every instinct telling him to run for cover and drink a gallon of orange juice to protect himself, but he fought the trembling in his legs and the urge to gag at the idea of Greg getting his sickly spit on him. Wirt felt his forehead and cheeks again while he was busy coughing. Yep. He was warm. Too warm.

“You’re sick,” Wirt accused.

“Nuh uh!” Greg denied, shaking his head. “I never get sick!”

“It’s the middle of January,” he continued. “Your classroom is probably an incubator for all sorts of germs and strains of the flu. Why do you think Mom’s always reminding you to wash your hands? It’s because you probably caught something at school and brought it home to share with the rest of us.”

“Sharing is caring.” Greg grinned, then coughed without covering his mouth.

Wirt grabbed Greg’s arm and forced it to muffle the mini coughing fit. “No one wants you to share your germs, Greg. Now come on. I need to take your temperature so I can figure out if you need medicine or not.”

Plus, was this just a regular cold or the flu? He’d heard something about the flu going around at his school, but wasn’t sure if it extended to the elementary school as well. He’d have to look up and compare symptoms.

“No!” Greg yanked his arm out of Wirt’s grasp.

The older brother rolled his eyes. “Yes, Greg. If you have a cold you need medicine and fluids and- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Greg was crawling away, heading straight for under his bed. “I don’t need medicine! Medicine is for quitters!”

“Medicine is for people who want to get better! Greg! Come back here!” Wirt tried to snatch him up before he wiggled all the way beneath the bed, but all he got for his efforts was a bonk on the head when he collided with the bed frame.

Why did their mom have to be out today of all days? Wirt scowled, pushing toys out of his way so he could lie on his stomach to see under Greg’s bed. It was a mess under there, and the bed was too low for him to get a good look. Throwing caution to the wind, he felt around underneath it until he grabbed onto the six-year-old’s ankle. He tugged, but Greg had to have been holding onto something because he didn’t budge.

He didn’t get paid enough for this. Heck, he didn’t get paid for this at all!

“Greg, seriously. I’m not in the mood for games.” Wirt tried dragging him out, but the angle was all wrong and- “ _Ow_! Did you just _bite_ me?”

He did. He totally bit him and now his little brother’s germ-laden spit was on his hand. Letting go of Greg’s ankle, Wirt examined his hand with a wince – a combination of pain and disgust crinkling his face. So gross.

Well, two could play at this game.

“Thanks, Greg. Thanks a lot. Fine, be sick, but don’t come crying to me when you feel terrible because you didn’t take medicine.” Wirt stood up, kicking his brother’s trumpet out of the way as he made a show of stomping back into his room.

He slammed his door shut for good measure. Wiping his hand off on his pants, Wirt allowed his angry façade to fall as he listened through the door. There was some movement on the other side of it, probably Greg inching out from under his bed. He waited until he heard footsteps, then ran over to his bed and jumped on, picking up _The Canterbury Tales_ from his nightstand and sticking his nose in it just as the doorknob jiggled.

Wirt kept his eyes glued to the pages as the door inched open. Bingo. Right on schedule.

“Wirt?”

“Hm?” He kept up the ruse of reading, waiting until the door opened wider before looking at his brother from over his book.

Greg gazed at him with his big ol’ eyes, bleary and sick and with a smidge of guilt. “Sorry I bit you.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied, then lifted his book higher.

Greg fidgeted in the doorway. Wirt could hear his socked feet sliding back and forth on the carpet. A small, sad cough and sniffle almost coaxed the older brother into setting his book down, but he tried to hold out for a few more seconds. He heard Greg shuffle closer to his bed.

“Wirt?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t feel so good…”

The kid sounded so pathetic, he had to give up the ruse now. Wirt fought back his smile of triumph as he lowered his book, only to stare in horror at the even paler – almost green – tinge to his brother’s cheeks. Oh no. No, he knew that look.

“Bathroom! Bathroom, bathroom, come on, Greg, not in here!” Wirt tossed the book aside and scrambled from his bed.

He scooped up Greg, who at least had the foresight to place his hands over his mouth even though that would do nothing to keep the sickness at bay. Holding him out in front of him, facing away from him, Wirt carried him down the hall to their shared bathroom and plonked him down right in front of the toilet.

Greg was making little hiccupping noises now and Wirt was sure that it would only be a matter of seconds determining whether or not he’d have a terrible, terrible mess to clean up. He lifted the toilet seat and helped Greg kneel so he was in perfect range. Safe. They were safe.

Wirt breathed a sigh of relief while Greg opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out as if that would assist in the throwing up process. Shifting so he was crouched behind him, Wirt brushed back Greg’s bangs to partially comfort and to partially feel his fever. He was still warm, but he really couldn’t tell how bad it was.

“Ahhhh.” Greg’s tongue still stuck out, his voice echoing in the toilet bowl. “Ah, ah, ahhhh. Nothing’s happening.”

“You still nauseous?” Wirt asked.

Greg rubbed his stomach. “I think so?”

Wirt sighed, sitting down on the tile floor and leaning against the wall opposite the toilet. False alarm then. Well, better to be safe than sorry. He would definitely be sorry if his brother’s puke ended up on the floor of his room.

He watched as Greg hovered over the toilet for a few more minutes. The kid alternated between coaxing his stomach into feeling better and making weird noises so he could hear them echo back. When he finally gave up, Greg flushed the toilet – even if there was nothing to flush – then crawled over to sit himself on Wirt’s lap, his cheek pressed right over the older brother’s heart.

Not always one for cuddling, since he couldn’t seem to sit still long enough to enjoy it, Greg seemed strangely at peace snuggled up to him. Wirt rubbed his back awkwardly. He had no idea how to take care of sick people. Personally, he liked getting backrubs from his mom when he didn’t feel well, so he supposed it was a good enough start with his brother.

“I’m cold,” Greg complained, cuddling closer. “And my throat hurts. And my tummy hurts. And my eyes hurt.”

“Your eyes?” Wirt raised an eyebrow, then studied the palm of his hand before covering Greg’s eyes with it. “Better?”

“Mmhm.” Greg reached up and pressed on Wirt’s cool hand with both of his. “How’d you know?”

Wirt shrugged, smiling a bit. “Well, same thing happens to me when I have a fever. Cool washcloths and being in the dark help. But you know what else helps?”

“Medicine…” The younger boy sighed heavily, pushing Wirt’s hand away so he could properly pout. “But it tastes gross.”

“What if I promise to make you some hot chocolate – with water, not milk since that might make your throat worse,” he suggested. “Would that make the medicine less gross?”

“Yes.” Greg nodded very seriously, then gave him a thumbs up. Then coughed. Then threw up.

Wirt slapped his palm to his face and banged his head against the wall while Greg’s stomach purged itself not two feet from the toilet. Perfect. Just perfect.

When Greg finished, he tugged on Wirt’s shirt until he lowered his hands and met the sick boy’s gaze. “My throat hurts even worse now, but my tummy’s better.”

“Good to know,” he replied dryly, then sighed. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

The medicine was going to have to wait until Wirt was sure his little brother wouldn’t just throw it back up again, and so would the hot chocolate. After Greg brushed his teeth and sipped a cup of water – it was important to stay hydrated after throwing up – he stripped him of his ruined shirt. One of the ones with the Peter Pan collar that he was so fond of, but hopefully their mom would know how to save it. With several damp washcloths, he mopped up Greg’s face and used them to try and cool his fever once he got him dressed in a clean pair of pajamas. He bundled Greg on the couch in a mountain of blankets. He also gave him a big plastic bowl from the kitchen just in case the nausea came back along with a glass of Sprite to settle his stomach, allowing him and Jason Funderberker to watch TV while Wirt cleaned up the bathroom.

He hated every second of it.

“I’m never having kids,” he groaned, gagging as he scrubbed his hands very, very thoroughly.

“Wirt?” Greg’s hoarse, sickly voice floated down the hall, effectively ending the sterilization process.

Drying his hands with a towel, he walked into the living room with a tilt to his head. Greg had given up one of his blankets to Jason Funderberker, the frog’s eyes blinking out from within it. The little brother in question held his arms out to Wirt.

“Will you come sit with us? Please? Jason Funderberker feels better when you’re here,” he told him.

His lips quirked up in a smile and he feigned a heavy sigh. “Oh, alright. For Jason Funderberker. Scoot over.”

Greg did as he asked, even going as far as to lift the blanket so he could be under it as well. Wirt leaned into the crook of the sofa arm and the back, grunting when Greg pillowed his head right on his stomach. The plastic bowl was set on the coffee table next to the glass of soda, close enough for any emergencies.

“You’re not gonna throw up again, are you?” he asked, just to be careful.

“Mm-mm. Too comfy.”

“You’re too comfy to throw up?”

“Yes. Now, shh. I’m trying to watch.”

“You shh.”

“I don’t have to shh, I’m sick.”

“Well, I’m taking care of you, so I shouldn’t have to shh, either.”

“Shh!”

Eventually, Greg fell asleep, still curled up against Wirt’s side and crushing his stomach with his head. It hurt, but not enough to make him want to move him. He knew from experience that it sucked to sleep while sick. If being Greg’s personal pillow helped him feel better, well, he was willing to endure mild discomfort with the looming threat of being puked on.

At least until their mom got back, then he was going to disinfect everything and let someone with more experience handling sick children take over.


	2. Was it a Dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "When Wirt and Greg arrive to their homes after all the commotion, a brightly burning lantern greets them in Wirt's room. And in Wirt's shadow is the Beast..."

It was funny how sitting in bed doing absolutely nothing for two days could make a person so completely exhausted. Wirt stifled a yawn as his mom herded him and Greg into the house. His body still ached, bruised from the tumble down the hill, but he was glad to be back home after… well, everything.

It didn’t feel like only two days had passed since he’d been home. It felt like a week, maybe more. One lost track of time in The Unknown. He’d paid close attention in the beginning, but after the dead end at Adelaide’s he couldn’t be bothered. Two days had passed after that, maybe three or four, it was hard to tell. Wirt touched the hallway wall with his fingertips, feeling the bumps and grooves in the plaster as if memorizing them would convince him that this was real. This was his house. He was home.

“Wirt! Hey, Wirt, guess what? We still have leftover Halloween candy!” Greg called from the dining room.

_They_ were home.

“That’s great, Greg, but I’m not really in the mood for candy right now,” he replied, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged off his jacket.

“But we’ve gotta arm ourselves against The Beast! They’re our only source of defense! Right, Jason Funderberker?”

Wirt heard the frog croak in response, followed by their mother’s sigh as she bypassed him into the kitchen. “Gregory, you need to let your brother rest. He’s still very tired.”

“But we already rested all day yesterday,” Greg pointed out.

“He’s been through a lot. You both have,” their mom replied. “Now, if your brother says he’s not in the mood, then you need to let him be.”

Even though Wirt couldn’t see him, he knew Greg had to be sporting an impressive pout right about now. He’d been perfecting it during their hospital stay, every time someone brushed off his stories about their adventures in The Unknown, complimenting his “wild imagination.” Except it wasn’t his imagination. It couldn’t be. Not when Wirt remembered everything just as clearly as Greg.

He shuddered, hanging his jacket in the hall coat closet. “Mom? I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

She hurried over to him, her hand going right for his forehead, then to his cheeks. He knew he didn’t have a fever, but he let his mom coddle him because- well, he’d missed it. He missed her. When she smiled at him, he attempted to return it, though it was weak.

“Of course, sweetheart. A nap will do you some good. Want me to make you a cup of tea? Chamomile or maybe something with mint?” she asked.

Wirt shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Thanks though.”

She gave his cheek a pat, then waved him away to his bedroom. Shuffling down the hall, his heart sped up at the thought of reuniting with his room. He craved the familiar sights and comforts after their journey and subsequent stay in the hospital. He just wanted to climb into his bed and sleep for a week, or at least lie there and whisper poetry until he was ready to face the reality of what happened.

“Wait for me, Wirt!” Greg called, scampering after him with Jason Funderberker hot on his heels.

He paused, hand on the doorknob, visibly cringing. He couldn’t deal with Greg, not yet. Not until he could get the sight of his pale face peeking out between the dark branches of Edelwood out of his head. Luckily, their mother nabbed Greg and coaxed him into some other activity. Wirt sighed with relief and opened his bedroom door, slipping inside quickly.

His Halloween costume was folded up on the bed. Wirt rubbed his shoulders through his sweater. The navy and red appeared out of place on the green bedspread next to his clarinet, but still he craved their familiarity as much as he did that of his room, his house, reality. Those colors made him the pilgrim. The hero.

Right now, he felt anything but.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. A light. Had he left his lamp on this whole time? He glanced at his nightstand. Wirt’s eyes widened and his knees locked.

On his nightstand, red and twisted and glowing with a writhing flame locked behind its glass case, The Beast’s lantern cast its light throughout his room. No. No it was impossible. Wirt scrubbed at his eyes and blinked madly. Still it sat there, staring right back at him with a sinister pulse of energy. Wirt trembled and his fingers twitched. Impossible. He’d left the lantern with The Woodsman. The Woodsman was supposed to blow out the light. It wasn’t his problem. Why was it here? _How_ could it be here?

“Wirt?”

He jumped. Clenching his hands, he spun around to face the intruder. In his horrified stupor he hadn’t heard anyone come up behind him, but there he stood, the culprit gazing up at him with a handful of candy clutched in his fingers.

No. No, Greg wasn’t looking at him, but to the side of him. He was looking at the wall. At his shadow. His little brother’s mouth hung open for a moment, struck speechless for a rare, precious second in his short life. Greg’s gaze slowly met Wirt’s. For a moment, Wirt could’ve sworn that it was fear shining in his brother’s eyes. Fear of him.

Hand shaking, Greg held the candy out to him. He waited, arm outstretched towards him, but not close enough for Wirt to take. Slowly, the older brother reached back, his palm facing upward and cupped just enough to accept what Greg had brought him.

“I brought you these for while you’re sleeping. To keep you safe,” Greg said softly. “From The Beast. Candy camouflage.”

Wirt swallowed against the lump in his throat as the plastic wrapped confections dropped into his grasp one by one. “Thanks, Greg,” he choked out, watching as his brother’s eyes wandered to his shadow yet again. “I hope… I hope it works.”

His fingers curled around the candy, crushing them in his grip. There was something else they longed to hold onto tightly. He could remember holding it, not yet understanding its importance, only using it to shine upon his brother’s face in the black of the woods. But it was so important, that lantern. His lantern.

Wirt and Greg looked at the chocolates melting in his hand as he squeezed them. His whole arm was shaking now. He needed to hold his lantern, keep it safe, keep it lit. The pulse rippled through his bedroom, sending him to his knees. No, no, no, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want it.

His chest felt hollow and cold. Like an old tree in a wintery wood. He looked to Greg and watched his brother’s eyes widen in alarm, heard his sharp intake of breath, and expected him to run, wanted him to run-

“You have beautiful eyes,” Greg told him shakily and Wirt squeezed them shut against the tears. “Don’t worry, Wirt. I’ve got lots more candy, so I’ll stay with you and help keep The Beast away.”

“Greg…” He felt colder.

Emptier.

He didn’t want Greg to see.

His little brother’s hand landed on his head, petting his hair gently. Wirt wanted to tell him to leave him, to go, it wasn’t safe here, but his mouth wouldn’t obey him and his tongue remained heavy behind tight lips. The darkness beneath his eyelids faded as the light from the lantern intensified, drying the tears he had yet to shed. Greg said something to him, but he kept his eyes closed and curled in on himself further.

_It’s only a dream_ , he thought to himself. _It’s only a dream._

When he opened them again, he was kneeling in the snow. Slick, black oil coated the palm of his hand instead of melted chocolate. The branch of an Edelwood tree was tangled in his hair.

A few feet away, the lantern burned nicely through the snowfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I shouldn’t write such sad things. But I’ve been wanting to play with bad endings though, so this was a pretty fun exercise. Thank you for the prompt, anonymous, I loved it! I hope this went along with what you were looking for!


	3. Stepping Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "Could you write something where some kids in school are picking on Greg or something, but he doesn't realize it, and then Wirt has to be a protective brother? IDK I just really need some protective Wirt."
> 
> Thank you for being so patient! I got really excited when I got this prompt because protective Wirt is the best and I wanted to make sure I did it justice. Hope you enjoy it!

Honestly, Wirt didn’t have to do this.

Hands deep in the pockets of his winter coat, he shivered as he hurried along the snow-covered sidewalk. Since they lived only a minute or two from the high school, it would’ve made sense for him to just go home after school and force Greg to take the bus like he’d done himself when he was a kid. They made school buses for a reason, after all.

Yet here he was, freezing away and walking an extra half hour in the snow all for his little brother. Wirt tightened the scarf he had tucked around his neck, pulled up so it covered his lips. His bright, red cone hat sat atop his head in place of a regular beanie or knit hat. Sure, it meant he was on the receiving end of quit a few stares – which never failed to make him jumpy and nervous – but Greg loved it when he wore it, and honestly Wirt liked wearing it, too. It made him feel… brave? Sort of brave. Brave enough to endure the weird looks, in any case.

It helped that Sara liked his hat, not to mention the others in their group. They were all for making statements though, especially that Jason Funderberker. None of them seemed to care what other people thought of them, or at least not to the point that Wirt did. It was refreshing, to say the least, but also unnerving in a way. He didn’t think he measured up to their standards, though for some reason they seemed to think otherwise.  

Once he had the elementary school in his sights, Wirt hurried to the parking lot. He carefully navigated the danger zones – those parents really wanted to pick up their kids – as he approached the schoolyard. Most of the kids gathered by the grassy area, or snowy area at this time of year, to wait for their parents, and Greg was no exception. Wirt scanned the groups of kids, concern furrowing his brow when he didn’t immediately spy his younger brother. Oh, wait. His eyes narrowed as he spied a familiar puffy, marshmallow of a child. There he was. He was sitting in the snow by the oak tree, bundled up in his thickest, greenest coat and making… an obscene amount of snowballs. He stacked them in a pyramid formation with another kid, a girl.

Wirt watched as she showed Greg the snowball she made. His little brother gave her a thumbs up and she set it in the pyramid. It wobbled for a second, Greg’s hands hovering over it as if he could make it stay put by sheer will alone. It remained in one piece and the two kids returned to making snow balls.

The girl looked a little older than Greg, maybe in the third grade. Wirt snorted. It just went to show how Greg could befriend pretty much anyone.

Well, almost anyone.

“Hey, Greg, I wouldn’t sit there if I were you.”

Wirt could barely hear the childish sneer over the calls and cackles of the other school children waiting for their parents, but he’d become particularly attuned to that voice ever since he’d met the little punk at one of Greg’s school functions. He frowned as he watched Andy McAllen and his posse of felonious first graders tromp through the snow right over to his brother and the snowball buddy. Andy McAllen. Greg might not have had a single bad thing to say about Andy McAllen, but Wirt had a list a mile long…

Well, not a mile long. The kid was seven, for crying out loud. He hadn’t committed _that_ many devious acts. But he’d committed enough.

“Hi, guys!” Greg greeted cheerfully with a wave. “Why shouldn’t I sit here?”

“Don’t you know what happens if you sit over the roots of a tree?” Andy McAllen cackled, then looked to his three friends as they snickered.

“Um. No?”

“They start to grow faster because they can sense how warm you are. Then they grow and grow, all over you, stealing all your body heat until you- you- you turn into a tree, too!” The boys burst out laughing while Greg’s face flushed for reasons other than the cold.

He ducked his head, hiding from both Andy McAllen and the girl next to him for a minute, until the color in his cheeks faded and he could laugh along with them. “That’s a good one, guys!”

“Hey?” Andy McAllen ignored Greg as he addressed one of the boys beside him. “You know what’s scarier than a tree?”

“I don’t know, what?” The other boy barely managed to ask through his snickering.

“Two trees!”

The boys’ uproarious laughter captured the attention of the other kids in the schoolyard. Some of the older kids shrugged it off and ignored them, while others watched with interest as the four boys surrounded Greg, the girl, and the snowballs. But no one went over to help them. Not a single one.

Wirt clenched his fists while Greg continued smiling. How did they know? And how could they exploit a kid’s fears like that? Even if it most likely seemed like a very silly, strange fear to most other kids. That wasn’t the point. No, that wasn’t the point at all. They were just being plain… _mean_.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flare of pride in how Greg was handling it. He didn’t get riled up or burst into tears or say mean things back. He took it in stride once he knew what kind of teasing to expect and played along like it was one big game. Wirt didn’t know if he hoped Greg really did think this was all a game, or if he actually knew that he was being made fun of.

“Hey, Greg. Greg, tell us… is a tree’s bark _really_ worse than its bite?”

Should he go over there and put a stop to it? Part of him wanted to. In his mind he envisioned the hero Greg saw in him – Wirt the Pilgrim – and imagined swooping in, saving the day with a clever turn of phrase that would have the group of boys bowing their heads in contrition, respectfully acknowledging that they were in the wrong. But that part of him wasn’t real. The larger part of him knew, without a doubt, that the last thing he wanted to do was get involved in someone else’s battle. Heck, he wouldn’t even get involved in his own battles! Confrontation was unnecessary and nerve-wracking and if he couldn’t stand up to four snot-nosed little kids on behalf of his brother, then he really would be a pathetic push-over with no backbone whatsoever. Plus, did Greg even want him to fight his battles for him? He’d gotten by so far without needing Wirt’s intervention, though honestly the older brother had no idea what kind of shenanigans Greg got up to when he’d been in Kindergarten or pre-school.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything. Maybe they’d get bored? Greg wasn’t reacting the way they wanted him to. He was making up tree jokes of his own now, to join in on the fun. And most bullies bullied to get a reaction out of other kids, to make them feel small. There was no way Greg would let anyone make him feel small. It was impossible.

They’d get bored and once they stomped off to continue whatever other delinquent activities six and seven-year-olds got up to, then Wirt would quickly go over and grab Greg so they could go home. Yeah. Good plan. It was a good plan.

“Hey, guys! What do elephants and trees have in common?” Greg asked, arms spread out wide in his excitement to tell the punch line. “They both have trunks! Get it?”

He giggled to himself, one of the other boys joining in as well until he was elbowed in the side. Andy McAllen rolled his eyes, then exchanged glances with the members of his little gang before they walked away. Greg watched them go with a wave.

“Okay, see you later! Now, where were we,” he asked the girl, who hadn’t said a word during the whole exchange and merely held up another misshapen snowball. “Oh, that’s a really good one! It should go right on top. There, doesn’t that look nice?”

Wirt relaxed, smiling beneath his scarf. Yeah, no one could make Greg feel small. He was a pretty amazing kid. The older brother started crossing the snow-covered grass to fetch him, but froze when he realized he wasn’t the only one making his way towards Greg.

Two of the boys from Andy McAllen’s gang crept up behind Greg while he and the girl were focused on their snowballs. Suddenly, they grabbed onto both of Greg’s arms. He squirmed in their grasp on instinct as they hauled him up into a standing position, holding him tight enough so he couldn’t get away. While he was distracted by them, Andy McAllen and the fourth boy ran up and started shoving tree branches down the back of Greg’s coat while screeching at him, trampling the snowball pyramid and chasing away the girl as Greg fought to get free. To get away.

“Oh no, Greg! You’re sprouting leaves!”

“They’re growing everywhere! They’re taking over your face!”

“You’ve turned into a tree! Oh, you’re so scary!”

“ _Hey!_ ”

An angry- no… a _furious_ bellow echoed across the schoolyard and the boys froze. Wirt didn’t even have time to be completely shocked by his own outburst as he stormed over to them, satchel abandoned in the snow, scarf yanked down, and fists clenched tight.

“Get away from him!” he snapped, gaze murderous as he bore down on them.

The boys scattered.

“Yeah, you better run!”

To them, he was as good as an adult that could get them in serious trouble. Oh, he had half a mind to find the nearest teacher – immediately – to record every single detail, put down in writing the unnecessarily cruel things they’d said and done and defend it in front of an entire jury if he had to!

But… that wasn’t what needed his attention right away.

With his newly freed arms, Greg quietly plucked the branches from out of his coat. His face was scratched up from flailing so much against the twigs and a new flare of anger burst in Wirt’s chest at the thought that those brats could’ve seriously hurt him. Wirt hurried the rest of the way over to him and dropped to his knees in front of him in the snow.

“Hey, here. Let me get those,” he told him softly, brushing the twigs that Greg couldn’t quite reach out of his hair and off his back. “You okay?”

Greg nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at Wirt either, gaze fixated on the crushed snowballs, and the older brother felt something inside him break just a little bit. He pulled him in for a hug and rubbed his back, hoping Greg would return it if only to reassure him that he really was okay. He didn’t. He didn’t even complain that the hug lasted too long.

Wirt took a deep, shaky breath and squeezed him a little tighter before letting him go. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Again, Greg nodded. Wirt picked up his little brother’s backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then took his hand as they went to retrieve his satchel. He couldn’t even remember tossing it aside, he’d been so mad. He was still mad. Oh, yes. Very, very mad. His hands were shaking, so once he had his bag across his other shoulder, he shoved his free hand into his pocket while the one holding Greg’s tightened so his little brother wouldn’t feel the tremors.

As they approached the parking lot, Greg glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Lola. Or sorry for getting her snowball tower destroyed.”

It wasn’t the first thing Wirt expected Greg to say, but when did his brother ever do what he expected? “Greg, you don’t have to be sorry for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It kinda was. She was making it on her own just fine before I showed up to help. I mean, together we made it better, but now it’s ruined. Do you think she’ll let me help her make a new one tomorrow?” Greg asked, his perkiness slowly seeping into his voice.

He was trying to forget.

Wirt waited until they were out of the danger zone that was school parking lots and back on the sidewalk heading for home before broaching the subject. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

“What? Snowball towers?” Greg played dumb, using Wirt’s grip on his hand for balance and as an excuse to hop on one foot instead of walking.

“No, Greg. Not the snowball towers. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Are you still mad?” Greg stopped hopping and looked up at him. “Don’t be mad, Wirt. Did you know that being mad makes your blood so hot that it turns into lava so the next time you yell, you explode like a volcano and that’s why they call it ‘exploding’ when people yell sometimes? That’s a rock fact!”

Wirt sighed and stopped walking, Greg following his lead. “I want you to be honest with me, Gregory. Does what happened with Andy McAllen and those other kids happen a lot?”

He wilted a bit, childish determination fading. “Mmm. Define a lot.”

“ _Greg_.”

“Okay, okay. Ain’t that just the way?” Greg huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “They used to do it more. Usually if I play along with them, then they leave me alone after a while. But they’ve never put branches down my shirt before.”

“Have you told a teacher? Mom or Jonathan? Greg.” Wirt grew more disheartened with each shake of his brother’s head.

“I’m no tattletale, Wirt!” Greg defended.

“What? You tattle on me all the time,” he pointed out.

“That’s different, you’re my brother, I’m supposed to tattle on you.” Greg placed his hands on his hips and lifted his chin. “But in school, you’re not allowed to tattle. We’re supposed to acknowledge our differences and make peas. I don’t know why we have to makes peas though, I’d rather make carrots.”

Wirt pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think they mean peace… and that’s all well and good, Greg, but sometimes it’s okay to tell a teacher or a parent. I mean, they could’ve seriously hurt you today.” He placed both of his hands on Greg’s shoulders. “Or your friend. Lola? Lola. Or maybe they’ll go on to hurt other kids when they get tired of hurting you. It’s… it’s not okay, Greg. What they were doing to you is not okay!”

His little brother gazed up at him with wide, doleful eyes. “I’m sorry, Wirt. Please don’t get upset.”

“I’m not ups- okay, yeah, I’m upset. I’m upset and angry and-and- _urgh_! I just can’t believe them. I can’t- why would they be so mean to you? You’re the nicest kid – like you’re crazy nice. Why would anyone want to-? Ugh.” Wirt slapped his palm over his face, took a deep breath, and counted to five in his head.

He felt Greg fidget in front of him. “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Wirt demanded of him, fixing him with a stern look. “It’s not your fault. Got it?”

“Got it.” Greg saluted him, then pointed down the street. “Can we keep walking home now? It’s cold. Or can we only talk about this while standing still?”

He breathed out a small huff. “No. Yeah, we can keep walking.” He tipped his head back and looked to the overcast sky as they continued their journey home. “I’m sorry, Greg, I’m just frustrated, I guess. I saw what they were doing and I just- I flipped. I flipped out.”

“Yeah you did. I’ve _never_ heard you sound like _that_ before,” Greg agreed, then flashed Wirt an impressed grin. “It was really cool. You were like a real super hero.”

Wirt blinked. “What? Really?”

“Yeah! You sounded really brave. And kinda scary. You should’ve seen the look on Andy McAllen’s face! I think he almost peed his pants, he was so scared!” Greg went on about him, cheering up considerably. “You were pretty amazing, Wirt. Thanks for saving the day.”

“Yeah, well…”

He reflected on his hesitance to get involved – stealing Greg’s thunder or making a big deal out of nothing – but when he saw nothing but pure admiration in his eyes – and the scratches lining his face – he knew he wouldn’t hesitate the next time. Just… hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time.

Wirt reached to take Greg’s hand again. “You can always count on me to save the day if you need me to. But promise me one thing?”

“Sure, Wirt! What thing?”

“Next time any of those guys bother you, find an adult and tell them. I know you don’t want to be a tattletale and I know you want to be friends with everyone, but… sometimes you just can’t, Greg, and it’s not your fault if you can’t. And sometimes the only way to get someone to leave you alone is to tell somebody else who can help you. Okay? So will you promise?”

Greg hummed as he considered Wirt’s request. “Will it count if I promise to tell you?”

“No, but I’d still like to know if it does happen again. Or you know, I might start to worry, and get all upset again, and then I’ll probably end up embarrassing you by becoming your personal body guard at school who follows you everywhere you go.”

“Whoa! Would you? That’d be so cool!”

“It’s not supposed to be- never mind, Greg.” Wirt waved it off. “Just… if you don’t promise to tell somebody, then I’m going to have to tell Mom and Jonathan myself.”

Greg sighed. “Okay, I promise the next time they make fun of me, I’ll tell Miss Yogurt or Mom. And you.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, brother o’ mine!”

“Do you- do you want to talk about what happened at all?” he broached hesitantly.

Greg’s grin turned thoughtful. “Mmm. Not really.”

“You sure? Because you can. You can talk to me about anything if you need to, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Okay, just making sure- oh!” Wirt nearly fell on his face as Greg locked his arms around his waist. He glanced down in surprise at his heavily bundled, marshmallow brother. “Uh, Greg?”

“I’m hugging you back from the hug you gave me earlier,” he explained, then go of him just as abruptly as he’d latched on and took off down the sidewalk. “Thanks for carrying my backpack all the way home for me!”

Shoulders slumping, Wirt huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. He trailed after Greg, quietly marveling at how easily he bounced back. No one could make him feel small or powerless. Wirt would see to that personally.

-0-

“Wirt! Hey, Wirt, look at this!”

Two days later, Greg ran up to him right away when he came to pick him up, waving a piece of paper in the air. He shoved it into Wirt’s hands so he could take a look at it. It looked like a card of some kind, there was writing and a drawing on it.

“I kept our promise! Andy McAllen dumped a cup of dirt on my head at lunchtime because he said dirt is tree food – even though it isn’t, trees get their food from the sun and that’s a rock fact – but after he did it, I told Miss Yogurt and she made him sit down with her through recess and told him to write me an apology card and he did! Isn’t that nice of him? I feel bad that he missed out on recess though, so I think I’ll write him an apology card back-”

Greg babbled while Wirt read the hastily scribbled “Dear Greg. I am sorry I put dirt on your head.  It was wrong. I will not do it again. Love Andy.” Two stick figures completed the card, one wearing a sad frown as it handed a letter to the smiling one. Wirt handed it back to Greg, who took it and carefully folded it back up to put in his backpack.

“That’s great, Greg. I’m really proud of you,” Wirt told him.

“And the best part is no one thought I was a tattletale!”

Wirt lifted an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the best part be that Andy McAllen apologized for bullying you?” Even if it was forced. The little punk still lost his recess privileges and probably hated every second of writing that card, so maybe he’d learn not to mess with his younger brother.  

“That’s the second best part, Wirt. I’ve got to think about my priorities,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Got it.” Wirt shook his head. Maybe Greg didn’t really grasp the importance of what he’d done, but it was a good step forward nonetheless.

It still didn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes as they walked past Andy McAllen on their way out of the schoolyard. Wirt attempted to convey that whole “I’ve got my eye on you” vibe. The boy visibly gulped before scowling right back at him, but he kept his distance and his mouth shut. Wirt smirked and placed his arm around Greg’s shoulder, the kid oblivious to the whole exchange as he relayed to Wirt every detail about the thrilling game of freeze tag he’d taken part in at recess.


	4. Sailboats and Submarines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "prompts, uhh.. you did do one where wirt had to babysit, i dont know if you'd feel like doing another one though, but. wirt's stuck with a YOUNG young greg and has to give him a bath - mostly because their mom knows that greg detests taking baths ."
> 
> My friend, I always feel like doing more of Wirt babysitting <3 Thank you for asking! Especially for a young, young Greg! I’ve been waiting to try my hand at writing them at this age, so I hope this suits what you were looking for!

“Wirt? Wirt, sweetheart, could you be a dear and-?”

“ _No_.”

Now normally Wirt knew better than to talk back to his mom, but he recognized that tone and he had had enough. He was putting his foot down. Here and now. On the ground. He was not budging one, single, solitary-

“Wirt, please.”

-inch. With a sigh, Wirt looked up from his train set, his lips set in a firm pout. Sure enough, his mom stood in the doorway to his bedroom, her fingers latched around the spaghetti sauce coated toddler drooling at her side. With absolute delight, the two-year-old waved his pudgy hand frantically and laughed. The menace.

Wirt cringed. “I don’t want to.”

“I know, sweetie, and I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t really need it,” his mom replied. “But he won’t even let me change his clothes.”

“No!” The little devil baby chirped happily, so proud of himself for being covered in his dinner.

“He’s a baby. Just hold him down and force him to take a bath. You’re stronger than him,” Wirt pointed out, determined to get back to building his train town on his bedroom floor.

“But he _likes_ it when you give him a bath.”

It was ridiculous, but true. Wirt sighed, hanging his head. It wasn’t fair. Why did the baby even like him so much in the first place? It wasn’t like the bath was any different just because he was washing him instead of their mom or his dumb dad. It was still a bath.

The baby blew a raspberry at him. His favorite way of saying his name. Wirt glared at him and he laughed again at his half-brother’s displeasure. He laughed at him just like everyone else. His cheeks colored and he clenched his fist.

“Will you keep him away from me for the rest of the night if I give him the dumb bath?” he asked.

His mom smiled, but it was one of the sad ones. “I promise I’ll find a way to keep him busy.”

“Fine.”

Wirt pushed himself up off his stomach and went to his dresser to grab a t-shirt that he didn’t mind getting soapy bathwater all over. He also grabbed a pair of swim goggles buried in the third dresser drawer and snapped them over his eyes. The eleven-year-old ducked into his closet to change, too old and too mature to dress in front of his mom, then made a show of exactly how put-out he was when he took the baby’s hand from hers.

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, spaghetti monster. Let’s get this over with.” Wirt dragged him down the hall, having to go a bit slower than he liked since chubby toddler legs didn’t work as well as big kid legs.

“S’ghetti!” he giggled. “I’m s’ghetti!”

“Yeah. You’re spaghetti.” Wirt closed the bathroom door behind them so he couldn’t run off and drag this out even more. Even if the little menace liked bathtime with Wirt, he liked it even more when it was let’s-play-hide-and-seek-before-bath-so-we-make-Wirt’s-life-miserable-time.

Wirt knelt down next to the tub and turned on the faucet. He stopped the drain and reached for the bubble bath, but he hesitated before pouring it in. He glanced from his half-brother to the running water, then sighed. Pulling the plug free, he let the cold water drain out and waited for the water to warm up this time before stopping it again.

After he put the bubbles in, Wirt turned to the messy toddler, making sure to keep as much distance between them as possible. “Okay, Greg. Let’s take this nice and easy. I’m just gonna get rid of your shirt here…”

He’d almost lifted it right off his head without any issues, but then Greg stumbled forward and for some reason decided to rub his sauce covered cheek on Wirt’s. With a hard tug, he got the shirt off over his head and tossed it aside, grimacing as he wiped off his cheek with toilet paper.

“Greg!” he snapped. “Watch it!”

He simply stuck his tongue out at him and blew another raspberry. Wirt blew one right back. He threw the toilet paper in the trash can, then resumed undressing him before checking on the bathtub. It was a little fuller than it needed to be for a kid as small as Greg, but it was good enough.

Wirt turned off the faucet for the time being, then hauled Greg up from under his arms and placed him at the far end of the tub. He wasn’t allowed to sit near the faucet since he always tried to lick it or stick his toys in it. Greg put his disgusting, food-covered fingers in his face and clapped at him. Like one would for a job well-done.

“Stop it.” Wirt pushed his hands away.

Greg clapped once more. Devil baby. Wirt rolled his eyes as he grabbed the miniature pitcher from the side of the tub and filled it with water. He poured it over Greg’s head without warning, the baby gasping and snorting through it. He blinked several times and rubbed at his eyes with his fists, smearing more marinara everywhere, then looked up at Wirt with the biggest eyes ever imaginable.

“Again!” he laughed.

“Yeah, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Wirt sighed, then did just as the kid asked and poured the water over him again. “You’re a mess, Greg. You’re not a baby at all, are you? You’re just one giant mess that’s dead-set on making _my_ life into a mess,too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Greg replied, cupping a cloud of bubbles in his hands.

He blew them into Wirt’s face. “Thanks, Greg. Thanks a lot.”

As he wiped the soap from his face, the younger boy laughed and bounced, creating tiny waves to lap at the sides of the tub. He slid a little, his head almost going under, but Wirt put his hand against his back to keep him upright like his mom had taught him. Back when he’d been much smaller, but still a huge pain.

“Stop goofing off,” he told him, making sure he was sitting straight up before grabbing the bowl of assorted bath toys from the floor. “Here. Go nuts.”

He dumped them all in, shaking his head at Greg’s wide-eyed awe as he watched them sink to the bottom or float on top. Babies were way too easily amused. Greg picked up a plastic shark while Wirt grabbed a washcloth to wipe at his face.

“Grawr-grawr,” Greg growled, showing Wirt the shark.

“That’s not what sharks say,” he told him.

“ _Grawr_!”

“You’re so weird.”

“Grawr?” Greg tilted his head and turned the shark sideways, as if both were questioning the older boy’s statement.

Wirt just rubbed the washcloth over his entire face. The baby sputtered and stuck his tongue out every time he wiped over his mouth. Not once did he learn to keep it closed. Shaking his head, Wirt moved down to clean Greg’s chest – how had he gotten spaghetti under his clothes?

Greg watched him as he soaped up his arms next, right down to the sticky, grabby fingers, with quiet interest. When Wirt finished, he tried to take the washcloth from him, making little displeased baby sounds when he refused to relinquish it. A mini tug-of-war ensued, ending only when Wirt became too annoyed to care.

“Fine, take it.” He tossed it into the water, then grabbed the baby shampoo.

Greg pulled the sopping wet washcloth out of the water, then threw it right at Wirt’s face. This was why he’d worn the goggles. When he peeled it from his face, it was to see his half-brother smiling proudly at him.

He pointed at him and said, “All clean.”

“I’m not the one who needed the bath, dummy.” Wirt frowned and draped the washcloth over the side of the tub.

“All clean!” Greg protested, splashing water and soap at him. “All clean!”

“Okay, okay! I’m all clean!” he snapped, grabbing at the satanic baby hands. “Now quit it, Greg!”

“Qui’it, Rrrrrt!” he babbled right back, grinning.

“You’re so annoying.” Wirt held onto both of Greg’s hands with one of his own so he could squeeze some baby shampoo on top of his head.

“You’wre!” Greg repeated. “You’wre, Rrrrrrt.”

Wirt snorted and lathered up his hair one-handed with practiced ease. Greg squirmed about, whining when he didn’t give him his hands back. He kept sticking his tongue out at him and making noises to get his attention. Wirt ignored him until he absolutely had to release his hands in order to grab the pitcher of water to rinse him. Before Greg could start splashing again, he shoved a rubber duck into his hands.

Sure enough, his giant baby eyes got even bigger as he looked at the toy in wonder. “Duck,” he cooed.

Wirt filled the pitcher, then placed one hand over Greg’s eyes as he washed the shampoo – and leftover sauce and spaghetti pieces – from his hair.

“Duck?” he called out sadly, feeling the toy in his grasp, but unable to see it.

“Duck’s still there,” Wirt told him, pulling his hand back for a second so Greg could blink down at the toy.

With a tender smile, Greg hugged the rubber bath toy and rubbed his cheek against it. Gosh, babies were dumb. Wirt realized with a jolt that his own lips had quirked up, so he quickly covered his mouth before Greg could see it and be encouraged to annoy him some more, or something.

“Gotta cover your eyes again,” he muttered, continuing to wash his hair.

“Quack, quack, quack. Quack, quack, quack,” Greg sang, making the duck fly through the air even though he couldn’t see.

He bonked Wirt in the nose several times. “Stop it. I’m almost done.”

“Quack, quack, quack!” He hit him again.

Once every little soap bubble vanished from Greg’s mop of light brown hair, Wirt scrambled up from the side of the tub to sit on the lid of the toilet. “Finally.”

Greg placed the duck on the water, then sent him careening off to the other end of the tub. “Wee!”

Both boys watched as it bobbed in place, Wirt with an unimpressed expression and Greg with anticipation. It took a little while, but slowly Greg’s face fell when he realized the toy wasn’t coming back. He stared up at Wirt expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You go get it.”

“Duck.” He pointed at the toy he wanted.

“Go get the duck if you want it so badly, Greg. No one’s stopping you.”

“Duck, Rrrrrrt.”

With a sigh, Wirt leaned over and tapped the toy so it skated along the water right back to him. “There. Happy?”

Greg pushed it to the other end once more. “Again!”

“How is this fun?” he asked, rhetorically of course since a two-year-old couldn’t very well answer him, but he relented and together they passed the duck back and forth until something new distracted Greg from their game.

“Bath stowry,” he requested, picking up an armful of the other bath toys. “Bath stowry, Rrrrrt.”

“I’m not in the mood for a bath story, Greg. Just finish playing so I can go back to doing my own thing.” Wirt slumped over, pushing his goggles up off his face so he could bury it in his hands. Why had he agreed to this?

He could feel the baby watching him quietly, then splashing and humming took over as he played by himself. Good, he’d given up. He’d let him play until the water cooled and then he could imprison him in a towel and hand him off to their mom and be free of him for the rest of the night. It wasn’t fair that he had to do dumb things like give him baths just because the baby “liked” him. Babies liked everything. Greg liking him didn’t mean anything. Greg also liked eating grass and putting socks on his hands before making them fight each other. As long as it amused him he liked it, and everything amused Greg.

Wirt sighed, “Being a baby is so easy. You don’t have to worry about anything except whether or not your rubber duck still exists just because you can’t see it. Your problems aren’t even problems at all. One day you’ll see though. One day you’ll realize rubber ducks and lollipops won’t solve anything. You know? Because everything will just crumble all around you and leave you in the dust trying to pick up all the pieces so you can put it back together. Maybe you find all the pieces, maybe you don’t, but even if you did you’ll find out that you ran out of superglue so you’re left with only pieces of what you once had. Yeah, I don’t know where I’m going with this.”

A startled gasp followed by a splash caught Wirt’s attention and he looked up just as Greg’s head fell back and disappeared under the water.

“Greg!”

The water was too high. The toddler flailed about, but couldn’t get back up on his own. Wirt banged his knee on the side of the tub in his haste to kneel beside it, plunging his arms into the bath so he could grab his little brother and pull him to the surface. Water and soap dripped down Greg’s face when he came up for air. Coughing, he pushed his chubby hands against his eyes, then grabbed onto Wirt’s t-shirt with a small fist.

“You’re okay.” Wirt patted his back while he spat out the water, his voice shaking. “You’re okay, Greg. Jeez, do you have any idea how much trouble I’d be in if you went and drowned? I’d be grounded for life! Or dead! Mom and your dad would kill me-!”

“Wirt.” Greg tugged on his shirt, blinking up at him.

He rarely took the time to say his name right. “What is it?” he asked.

“Bath stowry.”

Wirt groaned, bending over so he could repeatedly tap his forehead against the rim of the tub. “Why is this my life?”

Greg laughed and flung the damp washcloth on top of Wirt’s head.

He lifted his head to glare at him. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? Almost drowning was just part of your evil, baby scheme to get a bath story, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Greg took the washcloth back and put it on his own head.

“Fine.” Wirt huffed. He was already soaked anyway. “You want a bath story? I’ll give you a bath story. Once upon a time there was a sailboat. He was a happy little sailboat until his mom went and decided to have another baby with someone not the sailboat’s dad.”

Wirt held the toy sailboat in one hand and a submarine in the other, shoving both of them in Greg’s face.

 “This is what she ended up with. A submarine. Now everyone knows that sailboats and submarines can’t possibly be related to each other or ever get along because they’re two totally different types of watercrafts, but did that stop the sailboat’s mom? Nope. She went and had a submarine baby anyway. Luckily for the sailboat, submarines spend most of their time underwater so he didn’t have to see the submarine much. He got to spend all day skimming the surface of the sea with the wind flowing through his sails as he cruised from island to island. Sometimes he would just float in place, watching the clouds roll by above him, enjoying the peace and quiet of the ocean at rest.”

Wirt played with the sailboat on the water for a bit, then dropped the submarine back in along with it. “The submarine was dumb though. Since he spent all his time underwater, he never got to see the wonders of the sky or feel the wind. And he didn’t even care because he was so dumb. Sometimes he followed the sailboat around because he could see the bottom of the boat from where he was under the water, but the sailboat couldn’t see him. He was too busy watching the sky…” He paused, staring at the bath toys. “He didn’t even notice he was there. He’d leave him behind. Going off to do big, important sailboat things while the submarine stayed deep down in the ocean. Alone.”

Tears stung his eyes. This was supposed to be a story about dumb little brothers and being free of them, how had it turned into a story about being left behind? He sniffled, curling into himself. Then something damp and cold pressed against his cheek.

He blinked. Greg held the washcloth under his eyes to catch his tears, staring at him curiously. When the toddler realized he had his attention, he smiled.

“Pat, pat,” he said, then smacked the wet cloth against his nose as if he was trying to wipe it for him.

“No- Greg, I’m fine. Stop.” He pushed his hand away.

Greg dropped the washcloth so he could push the boats towards Wirt again, ready for him to finish the story. With a sigh, he picked the sailboat and the submarine back up, bringing the latter to the surface. He had to finish the story somehow.

“Anyway, one day the submarine realized, ‘hey, I can go to the surface when I’m at the docks,’ so he followed the sailboat and when the sailboat docked, he did too and then they were able to chat about their different adventures even though the sailboat clearly had way better ones since the submarine never saw anything except the water.”

“Fish,” Greg chirped, waving a rubber fish in Wirt’s face.

“What?”

“He sees fish!”

Wirt stared at him a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. He sees fish, too, so he tells the sailboat all about the different kinds of fish he sees.”

Greg grinned, pleased with his contribution, then picked up his shark and duck toys, too. “Grawr! Quack!” he made them say. “Me too! Me too.”

“And he talks about the sharks he sees and the one weird duck that somehow managed to be in the ocean even though a duck wouldn’t realistically be able to survive out there. And they lived happily ever after thanks to their occasional family reunions at port. The end. That a good enough story for you?” he asked, quickly collecting the toys so he could put them back in the bowl.

“Yes!” Greg bounced.

“Great. So we’re done then.”

With that said, he pulled the plug so the water could start draining. Wirt grabbed the towel with the monogrammed “G” on it and wrapped it around Greg as he pulled him out. If Greg was a slippery, wiggly baby when he was normal, fresh out of a bath he was even worse. He squirmed and got more water everywhere before Wirt could bundle him up properly.

 “I can’t wait until you’re old enough to take showers so you’ll finally be out of my hair,” he told him.

“Why?” Greg’s voice was muffled by the towel as Wirt quickly and half-heartedly dried him off.

He fixed towel around his shoulders like some kind of cape when he was done, then pulled him close so they were eye to eye. “Because you’re a menace.”

Greg blew a raspberry at him and laughed. Truly, truly a menace.


	5. Good Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From hyrules-warrior: "If you are still taking prompt ideas I would love to see other people noticing how close Greg and Wirt have become after the Unknown. Like maybe their parents or people at school. They just notice that all the sudden Wirt no longer seems to mind Greg tagging along with him and even seems to encourage it along with being much more patient and affectionate. They are joined at the hip old lady Daniels now jokes"
> 
> Thank you for your patience with this hyrules-warrior! I had fun writing this from different perspectives and I hope you enjoy it! In my story-verse, these take place in between the first part of “Hey, Wirt?” and “Wishful Thinking.”

“Greg! Come on, honey, I needed to leave ten minutes ago!” Amy called for her youngest son as she rifled through her purse. Where were her keys?

She went back to double check the kitchen, then spied them on the counter by the fruit bowl. She snatched them up and hefted her purse over her shoulder. Hopefully her hair looked alright. She didn’t have time to check the mirror, especially if she needed to use force to get her son to skedaddle.

“Gregory, I mean it, let’s go!” she shouted down the hall at his closed door.

A door opened in response, but Amy found herself blinking as it wasn’t the door she expected. Her older son peered out at her from his room, his brow arched questioningly. She shrugged helplessly, but gave him an apologetic smile before fixing her sternest expression and marched right up to Greg’s room.

“Where are you guys going?” Wirt asked as she passed him.

“I’ve got to go into the diner for a few hours tonight and Jon’s staying late for band practice,” she explained quickly, opening the younger boy’s bedroom door only to find him smiling sweetly up at her from where he sat cross-legged on the floor with that frog of his. “Gregory. Now.”

He scrambled to his socked feet, then ran to the closet for his shoes. Amy shook her head as she folded her arms across her chest, waiting in the doorway so that he couldn’t be distracted by anything else. She could feel Wirt standing behind her, his hesitance heavy in his silence.

“What uh- what does that have to do with Greg?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed a little. She glanced over her shoulder at him, taking in the honest curiosity that looked so very out of place on her boy. Not that he wasn’t curious about things. Her gaze flicked to the many shoes being flung out of a very messy closet. He just wasn’t curious about Greg.

“I have to drop him off at Mrs. Daniels,” she replied carefully.

“Oh.” Wirt fidgeted, his posture mirroring hers subconsciously. “How come?”

Now she was positively dumbfounded. “I- because I always do?”

Wirt shrunk under her gaze, his gaze darting between Greg’s doorway and the floor. “Oh,” he squeaked out. “Well maybe- I don’t know. Maybe I could- could watch him. So you don’t have to go out of your way to Mrs. Daniels’s and you won’t be late for work.”

“Yeah!”

Amy glanced down as Greg squeezed past her out the door, two mismatched shoes in hand. He smiled brightly, waving one shoe at Wirt and the other at her. She was still trying to comprehend just what her oldest son had offered. It wasn’t like he never babysat for her and Jonathan before, but… he’d never _offered_.

“Well, thank you for offering, sweetheart, but it’s alright. Mrs. Daniels is just around the corner, it won’t take long to drop him off.” Providing that Greg actually put his shoes on his feet instead of on his hands.

Her youngest wilted. “Aw, but I want to stay here with Wirt. And so does Jason Funderberker.”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s okay. I can look after him, really,” Wirt insisted.

Insisted. Amy didn’t really have the time to spend pondering this newest development or if her son was perhaps having a mental breakdown courtesy of nearly drowning in a lake barely a week ago, but she would certainly investigate after she got back from work. “If you’re sure,” she hedged, watching Wirt’s expression closely.

“He’s sure!” Greg answered for him. “Wirt’s the captain, Mom! And what the captain says goes, right Wirt?”

“Yeah, sure, Greg- I mean… Ay. Matey.”

Amy stared at him. _Who are you and what have you done with my son?_ She kept her mouth shut. Maybe she’d call the doctor up in the morning just to check and make sure there hadn’t been any head trauma. The only reason she didn’t say anything was in the off chance that he was actually being nice to his little brother because he wanted to and she in no way wanted to jinx that or embarrass him or send him running straight for the hills.

So instead she nodded. “Okay, then. Um. Call me if there are any emergencies. Or Mrs. Daniels. Her number’s on the fridge.” She glanced between them both as they nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you boys later tonight then.”

“Bye, Mom!” Greg called as she turned to leave, waving his arms so his shoes went flying right off his hands and smacked against the wall. “Whoops.”

“Yeah, bye, Mom. Greg, careful.” Wirt turned his complete attention to Greg as they inspected the wall where the shoe hit it.

“Sorry, Wirt. Guess I just don’t know my own strength! Grr!”

When her older son actually laughed – he _laughed_ – Amy had to turn around. Gregory wasn’t doing anything different than usual, the bundle of sunshine personified merely striking various poses that implied he had an excess of arm muscles, but Wirt looked on with such exasperated fondness, like he’d never seen something so ridiculous or amusing before. He looked… happy.

She watched him poke Greg’s nonexistent muscles and nod, murmuring something in agreement to him that made the younger boy laugh, then gasp at a sudden realization. “Wirt! The people-eater spirit is back! It’s right behind you!”

Amy quickly deduced that this was some sort of game when Wirt turned around to see that nothing was there, but gasped dramatically anyway. “Quick, Greg, we need to get the bell from Jason Funderberker!”

“Yeah! So we can command it turn into a magical tiger again!” Greg grabbed Wirt’s hand and dragged him into his room. “Hurry, Wirt!”

With the both of them out of sight, Amy shook her head and left the house a little more confused and a lot more late than she’d planned on being.

-0-

“Whoa! Where’s the fire, chief?” Jonathan joked as his son barreled past him – tea kettle perched on his head, frog perched on top of that, and a bag full of whiffle balls in hand.

“There’s no fire, Dad.” Greg paused to give him an exasperated look that he most certainly picked up from either his mom or brother, hands on his hips and eyebrows furrowed. “Not today anyway. I’m playing Defeat the Beast today!”

“Ooh, sounds exciting.” Jonathan crouched down to be at his level. “Do you need any help, commander?”

“Nope! Jason Funderberker and Wirt are all the help I need!” Greg turned to start running again – making a beeline for his older brother’s room, Jonathan realized – so he placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place for the moment.

“Hang on a minute, buddy. I’m not so sure you should… I mean… I don’t think he’s up for being interrupted right now.”

He and Amy always worked so hard not to say “don’t bug your brother” or “don’t bother him” because the last thing they wanted was for Greg to realize he was thought of as either a pest or a bother, but they didn’t exactly want to force Wirt to do anything he didn’t want. Or, well, Amy didn’t want to force Wirt. It wasn’t really his place to decide what to do with his step-son, even if his wife insisted that he did. Wirt had made it inexplicably clear how he felt about that.

Greg’s eyes widened. “Oh no!” he despaired, startling him.

“What? What is it?” Jonathan pressed.

Greg waved his arms frantically. “The Beast must’ve gotten him again! I have to save him!”

“What-? Wait, Greg!”

But his son was too quick. Jonathan had only just managed to rise out of the crouch – darn knees, he wasn’t old enough to have bad knees yet – by the time Greg threw open Wirt’s bedroom door without a single knock. Oh no. He cringed and braced himself for the storm that was surely about to befall them, hurrying to apologize to step-son.

“Stop, you Beast! Give me back my brother!” Greg pointed into the room, then launched himself inside.

“I wasn’t ready yet, but okay.” Jonathan froze in the doorway, unable to believe just what he was seeing.

Wirt stood in the middle of his room, a black towel draped around his shoulders and reindeer antlers on his head, and was facing down Greg with a bemused expression before shifting it into something that was supposed to look menacing and really didn’t. Greg frowned at him nonetheless, a serious look for a not-so serious boy.

Wirt started to speak again, but had to clear his throat in order to pitch it lower. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gregory. Your brother is not here. Clearly I do not have him.”

“Liar! I have- um- sources that say otherwise!” Greg defended. “Sources that say Wirt is in here and you’re in here so you must be holding him captive! And I won’t stand for that.”

“Well, perhaps I sent those so-called sources in order to trick you?” Wirt continued – or rather, whoever Wirt was pretending to be.

“You’re not that smart, Beast!”

“Is that so? Well, I- oh. Hi, Jonathan. Did you need something?” Wirt dropped his persona when he finally noticed him standing in the doorway.

He shook his head slowly. “No, I was… I just wanted to make sure Greg wasn’t… wasn’t distracting you or uh… causing you any trouble…”

Wirt relaxed and smiled. “Oh. No, he’s not. We’re good. Right, Greg?”

“Die, Beast!” A whiffle ball smacked Wirt in the head.

Other than a wince and frown, his step-son didn’t react to the attack. “That’s… good.” Jonathan glanced between the two of them. “Alright then, I’ll… I’ll leave you to your game. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.” Another wiffle ball knocked the antlers from Wirt’s head. “Greg, stop that. We’re in timeout right now.”

“You never called timeout, Wirt. You have to call timeout first,” Greg explained patiently.

Wirt simply sighed in resignation, then stooped to collect the reindeer antlers and readjust them. “You will pay for this attempt on my life, Gregory,” he said in the deep voice. “Come here!”

Greg shrieked and threw one more ball at Wirt’s face as he lunged at him, then scrambled to get away, jumping onto Wirt’s bed and then across the floor and out the door. Jonathan pressed himself against the wall to give the boys space as both went racing down the hall. Wirt had collected two of the wiffle balls, prepared to chuck them right back at Greg as they ran outside into the backyard.

It was… certainly a sight.

“What’s with that face, Jon? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Amy teased him later, when his shock refused to fade.

“Do you think it’s possible for demonic possession to make someone act nicer?” he asked her without warning.

She smiled as if she expected this talk. “Ah. Wirt?”

“Wirt.” He confirmed.

“Don’t worry.” She gave him a pat on the knee and a kiss to his cheek. “I already checked.”

Jonathan started to nod, then paused, finally shaken from his previous stupor to enter a new one as he stared at his wife in disbelief. “You checked? What do you mean you checked?”

“I may have stolen some holy water from the church and sprinkled it in Wirt’s tea…” She burst out laughing at the way his jaw dropped and eyes bugged out. “No! I didn’t actually check!”

“I believed you!”

“I know, it was written all over your face, Mr. Gullible. How have you taught children for this long and not been torn to pieces?”

“Kids ten and under aren’t exactly known for being convincing liars,” he reminded her, grinning as her amusement infected him. “But seriously, you’re not concerned? About Wirt? I mean, it’s a good change, I’m not saying that it isn’t, but do you think it’s a way of coping? With what happened? Should he talk to someone?”

“Of course I’m concerned,” she replied, laughter fading as she softened. “And yes, I do think he’s coping, but… I have to say, out of all the ways he could be dealing with this, I think playing with his little brother is hardly the worst he could be doing. If it helps him, then I don’t want to say anything to discourage him. Besides, it’s… it’s nice to see. Don’t you think?”

Jonathan thought about the way Wirt had “punished” Greg by holding him upside down and spinning him around the backyard, the younger boy whooping with glee even as he protested the unfairness of it all. “Yeah,” he replied with a small smile. “Yeah, it is.”

-0-

“Hey, Wirt.” Sara grinned as she caught up with him at his locker after school.

He jumped, hugging his history textbook to his chest as he spun to face her. “O-oh! Uh, hi, Sara,” he managed, red-faced and fidgety. One of his books slid out of the locker and to the floor, startling him again. “Oh, jeez,” he mumbled.

He stooped down to grab it, but she beat him to it, placing it back in the chaos of his locker. “How do you ever find anything in here?” she teased, pointing to the stray scraps of paper shoved in between books and folders.

“I have a system,” he defended, smiling a little as he put his history book into his old-fashioned, leather bag. “So, what’s up?”

Sara tugged on the straps of her backpack, squeezing them to hide the small bubble of nerves in her belly. “Wrestling practice was canceled, so I wanted to see if you wanted to walk home together,” she told him.

His eyes lit up, his mouth doing that little quirky thing whenever he wanted to smile and for some reason wouldn’t let himself. “Y-yeah! Of course!” he answered, voice cracking. He flushed again when she grinned, then cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. That- I would like that, yeah. Oh, but, um… I kinda have to stop by the elementary school first? Is that okay? I have to pick Greg up.”

Sara tilted her head. “Oh? But doesn’t Mr. Whelan still work there?”

“Yeah, he does.” Wirt rubbed the back of his neck and refused to meet her gaze. “But, uh, he teaches band practice after school, so he ends up staying there kind of late. I mean, Greg used to have to wait for him, or take the bus, but I- I’ve started, I dunno, walking home with him, just… just because.”

Pretty much everyone knew about Wirt’s younger half-brother, ever since he brought the enthusiastic toddler to class for a project in fifth grade, but until recently he never really talked about him. Besides, Greg did enough talking for both of them whenever he followed Wirt around town. Though given recent events, she couldn’t say she was all that surprised. If she had a younger brother or sister and had gone through what they had, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t let them out of her sight either.

She smiled reassuringly at him. “Sure. I don’t mind walking with you to pick him up.”

He blinked at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” She squeezed the straps of her backpack again as her gaze flicked to his hand, then back to his eyes.

He noticed, another little not-smile tugging at his lips as he closed his locker. “Great. Let’s uh, let’s go then.”

He almost reached out for her hand. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t, but she was by the fact that he let her see that he wanted to. Wirt had the uncanny ability to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet keep everyone at a distance. If he didn’t want someone to know something, then they just didn’t. Sara thought about the mix tape she kept in the pocket of her jacket still, waiting for Wirt to officially invite her over to listen to it. She didn’t mind that he hadn’t yet, because the tape’s existence itself was proof enough that he wanted her to know something, and for now that was more than enough for her.

Just like walking with him to pick up his little brother from school was enough, too.

“Wirt!” Greg positively glowed when he saw them from across the schoolyard, like getting picked up from school by his brother was a special treat.

“Hey, Greg,” Wirt greeted easily, his hand reaching out to hold the first grader’s of his own volition.

Sara blinked and stole a glance at his face, her heart skipping a beat at the completely unguarded smile that stretched across Wirt’s face. Like getting to pick up his brother from school was just as much of a special treat to him, too. It wasn’t strange to see Greg trailing after Wirt around town from time to time, or rather, Wirt trailing after Greg rather reluctantly, but it was strange to see this.

Greg squeezed Wirt’s hand like he was telling him something through it, then his gaze fell upon her and he grinned. “And Mascot Sara! Hi! Did Wirt finally invite you over to listen to the tape finally?”

“Greg!” Wirt looked positively mortified as he gaped at him.

That was the Wirt she knew and- well, liked a whole lot, she mused while chuckling. “No, not yet. But I’m hoping it’s soon.”

“Me too! I want to hear what he put on it,” Greg added while Wirt rolled his eyes to the sky as if questioning his lot in life. “But only after you listen to it first.”

“You’re not going to listen to it at all,” Wirt told him, ears burning along with his cheeks. “It doesn’t say ‘For Sara and then Greg’ it just says ‘For Sara.’”

“So?”

Sara smiled at the easy back and forth, then leaned in to whisper to Greg, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you listen to it,” much to his delight and Wirt’s embarrassment.

Their walk home was mostly filled with Greg’s chatter and their occasional interjections on the important subject matter of first grade etiquette, but Sara enjoyed every second of it. Wirt and his little brother definitely had quite a lot to say. As they walked and Greg talked, Wirt slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. Silently asking if it was still okay. If her offer still stood. If she was okay with waiting for him.

She squeezed back, positively beaming when his quiet little smile made itself known even as his gaze remained trained on the ground. _Of course._

-0-

It seemed that every day there were more leaves to rake. Mrs. Daniels dabbed the sweat off her brow with her handkerchief, the autumn air unnaturally warm for this time of year. Not to mention she just wasn’t the well-oiled machine she once was and could hardly claim that manual labor came easily at her age. Not that she was an old lady. No sir, she still had a decade or two before she’d agree to that title.

“Hi, Old Lady Daniels!”

Of course, that wouldn’t stop Gregory Whelan now would it? She tucked her handkerchief away and turned to face the sidewalk. The six-year-old stood there, waving at her with a frog tucked under his arm.

She waved back, but narrowed her gaze playfully. “Now what have I told you about calling me ‘old lady,’ young man?”

“Not to do it,” he replied, large eyes taking in the state of her leaf-ridden yard. “Are you raking more leaves, Mrs. Daniels? Do you need some more help? Jason Funderberker and I can help!”

He held out the frog to show that he agreed and it croaked. Why that child had named his frog after the Funderberkers’ son baffled her, but then Gregory was quite the exuberant child. Surely he had his reasons.

“I would love some help. Thank you for offering.” She went to her front gate and unlocked it, letting him and the frog through. “I’ve missed working in the garden with you. Your mom hasn’t asked me to look after you for a while, is everything alright with her work?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered easily as he set down his frog so he could gather the leaves in his arms. “I’ve been staying at home with Wirt lately, but I bet he won’t mind if I come see you next time if you miss me so much.”

“Oh?” She leaned against her rake as she watched Gregory make a little leaf pile. “Really. Why, it seems you boys have just been attached at the hip lately, doesn’t it? I didn’t realize how much Wirt liked babysitting.”

“Oh yeah! He loves it! I think.” He paused thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky, then shrugged and smiled. “Well, I love it anyway. And he hasn’t complained yet, which is weird ‘cause he’s usually always complaining, but ever since we got back he’s hasn’t done it as much.”

When Gregory wasn’t looking, Mrs. Daniels frowned a bit. She’d heard the stories the child spun after he was released from the hospital, convinced that he and his older brother had gone to some magical Wonderland type of place with little idea that the two of them nearly drowned. It wasn’t her place to question it, and the boy had quite the healthy imagination. If it was his way of dealing with the trauma of what happened, she supposed there could be worse ways.

Though she did worry about that brother of his. He’d always been far more sensitive and intuitive than Gregory. She wondered how he was coping in all of this.

“Greg?”

Well, speak of the devil. She placed her hands on her hips as she watched the beanpole of a teenager hurry across the street. The high school had let out about fifteen minutes ago, so he must’ve stayed behind for something.

“Hello, Wirt. Good to see you,” she greeted him when he arrived at her gate.

“Hi, Mrs. Daniels. Did our mom end up having to go to work?” he asked, glancing between her and Gregory.

She shook her head. “No. Gregory and his frog just happened to be walking by and I thought we could spend some quality time together. You’ve been keeping him all to yourself lately, or so I’ve heard,” she scolded playfully.

Wirt stiffened, wringing his hands together in the same nervous gesture he’d had since he was Gregory’s age. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry? But why was he out walking? Greg!”

“Hi, Wirt!” Gregory stopped what he was doing and ran over. “We’re raking leaves! Want to help?”

“What are you doing walking around by yourself?” he asked, crossing his arms in an attempt to look stern. “Or walking around at all, for that matter. You have a fever, you were supposed to stay in bed all day.”

Mrs. Daniels shook her head. That child. “Gregory, you didn’t tell me you weren’t feeling well. I’m afraid you have to wait at least twenty-four hours after having a fever before you can do any yard work.”

“Aw, beans.” Gregory pouted, and aside from the faint flush of his cheeks that she’d attributed to the warm air, he didn’t very much look sick.

“Does Mom even know you left?” Wirt continued to question him.

Gregory kicked at the ground. “Well, if she goes to check on me she’ll know I left.”

Wirt groaned, smacking his own face. Again Mrs. Daniels thought, that child, but for completely different reasons. Wirt simply bottled up too much stressful energy. Not that she could blame him, in this case. She could too easily imagine the kind of panic Amelia Whelan was sure to face once she looked in on her sick son only to find him missing. And so soon after the Halloween incident, which Mrs. Daniels could only feel a bit responsible for in some way. At least for Gregory’s involvement.

“Gregory, you go on home with your brother this instant. I’ll go inside and call your mother to let her know where you are.”

Wirt sighed with relief. “Thanks, Mrs. Daniels.” Then he turned his attention back to Greg as he held the gate open for him. “So are you going to tell me why you decided to go for a walk with a one hundred and one degree fever?”

“I wanted to pick you up when you were done with school, like you do for me!” he told him. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

Mrs. Daniels watched as Wirt’s expression softened into a sort of tenderness she rarely saw from him. “Oh. Well… that’s nice, Greg, but you’re sick and I don’t want you to get sicker. Plus, you really should’ve asked Mom first.”

“She wouldn’t have let me go though.”

“If you don’t think Mom’s going to let you do something, that’s usually a pretty clear indicator not to do it.” Wirt felt his brother’s forehead and took in his expression before shifting the weight of his book bag. “Here, come on. I’ll carry you home.”

“Oh boy!” Greg immediately lifted his arms, and Wirt surprised Mrs. Daniels with the ease in which he was able to pick him up. “Bye, Old Lady Daniels! I promise to come help you with your garden when I’m not sick anymore!”

“Thank you, Gregory,” she called out, “Oh, and Wirt, you’re always welcome to join us if you’d like. I can always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Okay. Bye, Mrs. Daniels. Come on, Jason Funderberker.” Wirt waited for the frog to start hopping alongside them before heading down the sidewalk towards their home.

She watched as he adjusted his grip on Gregory, listening attentively to whatever the little boy had to say, then shook her head fondly while she popped inside to give their mother that quick call. Joined at the hip indeed.

-0-

As Wirt succeeded in finding the most comfortable way to carry Greg on their way home, Greg observed him quietly for a moment before telling him, “You’re different.”

“Yeah?” Wirt angled his head so he could look at him. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different,” Greg replied, resting his feverish cheek on Wirt’s shoulder. “I don’t know what it is, but keep doing what you’re doing, Wirt. I think it’s making you happier and you should be happy.”

He smiled a little. “I think I can manage that.”


	6. Not as Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "Prompt: Amy and Jon, on the night of the boys' first halloween incident, and their reaction to the changes afterwards. (I just really like those characters, and I imagine there was quite a shift in family dynamics after that. And despite the fact that it was undeniably a good thing, they must've felt very confused not understanding the cause (or half the conversations their children had anymore, referencing witches and trees and talking bluebirds and the like)."
> 
> This is more of a focus on the boys’ first Halloween incident rather than the changes afterwards, but I do touch on some of it. I’ve really wanted to write this out, so I’m happy that you’ve given me a chance to! You can see more of Amy and Jon’s reactions to the changes afterwards in “Good Different” and I’ll probably write more of their family dynamics in other prompts. Hope you enjoy this!

Amy adjusted the long, orange-tinted wig atop her head, trying in vain to make sure each of her thick, brown curls stayed stuffed underneath it. She groaned when a stray spiral popped out, right by her ear. Carefully, she tucked it behind the faux orange strands, hoping it would go unnoticed.

“Jon, hurry up!” she called to her husband as she searched her vanity for the light purple headband. “We’re going to be late!”

From the shower, where both steam and song clouded together in their bathroom, Jonathan’s singing only increased in volume. Amy rolled her eyes. Oh well, it was his co-worker’s Halloween party, after all. If anyone should be worried about being late, it should be him. She nodded, then tied her lime green scarf around her neck. She smiled to herself as she admired her completed costume in her vanity mirror. Perfect.

A crash sounded from the kitchen.

Amy wilted. If only the rest of her family was doing what they were supposed to be doing as perfectly as she was. Smoothing out her dress, she hurried out of her bedroom into the hall, heading for the kitchen.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re getting in your costume, Gregory!” she hollered, taking a moment to peek inside her youngest son’s bedroom.

Just as she’d thought. It was empty, the ghost costume she’d spent the last week making still draped on the bed. Amy shook her head. She turned to continue to the kitchen, but paused as she glimpsed her oldest’s closed bedroom door. She bit down on her lip, cursing under her breath as she belatedly remembered the lipstick she’d just applied. Oh well, what was a little lipstick on her teeth? Steeling her nerves, she knocked firmly on Wirt’s door.

A muffled sound that could’ve been a “yes, mother dearest?” or a “go away” answered her. “Wirt? Are you getting ready?” she asked.

She only had to wait a moment before the surly fifteen-year-old opened the door. Well, that answered her question. He was still dressed in what he’d worn to school. Despite it being Halloween, he’d chosen to stick with his usual brand of slacks and sweaters. Amy placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

“Is that what you’re wearing to take Greg trick-or-treating in?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not taking him trick-or-treating.”

Oh, not this again. She didn’t have time for this. Or the emotional stamina. “Wirt, you said you would last night.”

“Well, I- I changed my mind.” Wirt crossed his arms, hunching in on himself. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, did you decide to go to the football game after all?”

Amy and Wirt both turned to see Jonathan poke his head out from the master bedroom. Her husband was absolutely impossible. He was already dressed, hair combed and dried, and he’d literally been in the shower not five minutes ago. She narrowed her gaze at him while he winked. At this rate, it would be her that would make them late after all. Unless she delegated the task to getting Greg dressed in his costume to him.

Jonathan’s playful grin vanished as Wirt scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No. For the last time, I’m not going to the football game. Stop pressuring me.”

He slammed his door shut. “Hey! No slamming doors,” she admonished through the wood. “And if you’re not going to the football game, then you’re not too busy to take your little brother trick-or-treating.”

“I don’t want to take him!” Wirt called back to her.

“Tough luck, you agreed to it and I’m holding you to that agreement.” And here she thought the boys would finally have a chance to bond. Well, that might’ve been hoping for a bit much.

She shook her head, then turned to Jon. He simply offered a shrug in response and a hesitant smile. Oh, no.

“He’s taking Greg trick-or-treating,” she told him.

“If you say so,” Jon replied, leaving the final say up to her.

Neither of them liked it, but it was how things had to be. She sighed heavily. At least she had him in her corner when it came to Greg. Another crash reverberated through the house. Speaking of… “Do you think you could get Greg in his costume- hey!” Her brow furrowed when her husband ducked back into their bedroom.

“I’m not ready yet!” he called back.

“You look ready,” she pointed out.

“I need to find my ascot!”

Amy snorted. “Of course you do.”

Keen on making sure her kitchen wasn’t being completely destroyed, she resumed her trek down the hall and through the living room. Her six-year-old was currently on his hands and knees on the floor, flinging pots and pans left and right as he rifled through the cupboards. He held up a silver pot and hummed as he turned it over several times, then tossed it over his shoulder to join the pile of what she assumed was for the rejects for whatever his current objective was.

“Greg, please be careful with Mommy’s kitchen things. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner depends on them,” she told him as she started picking up after him. “Why aren’t you getting in your costume? Do you need help?”

“Nope!” he chirped, pushing aside the slow cooker as he scooched his way inside the cupboard. He almost fit, and would’ve if he hadn’t wanted to wear his puffiest overalls today. “And I am getting into my costume!”

Amy blinked, then rescued a glass lid from shattering on the linoleum floor when Greg threw it over his shoulder. “What are you talking about, honey? Your costume’s on your bed.”

“Oh. That’s not my costume anymore.”

She closed her eyes and counted to five before exhaling. “That’s not your costume anymore?”

“Nope!”

“But I thought you wanted to be a ghost for Halloween,” she reminded him.

“I decided that I don’t really want to be a ghost, I just want to see one,” he explained, shimmying out of the cupboard holding a silver tea kettle. “I want to be an elephant this year instead.”

Amy’s shoulders sagged. “Honey, I don’t have time to make you an elephant costume. Dad and I are already running late as it is.”

“That’s okay, I can make my own,” he told her with a bright smile.

Well, how could she say no to a face like that. “Alright, if you want to make yourself an elephant costume, go right ahead. You just have to be ready when Wirt says it’s time to go. And you have to listen to your big brother very, very closely, understand? He’s the boss tonight and what he says goes.”

“So Wirt’s the leader?” Greg asked.

“Yes, Wirt’s the leader,” she confirmed, setting the rest of the pots and pans on the counter to deal with later.

She had to admit, her son was creative in his costume methods. The spout of the tea kettle did actually look like an elephant’s trunk when he set it on his head experimentally. She was only a little disappointed that the ghost costume would go unseen. She was actually pretty proud of it, it had turned out better than she’d expected given what it was.

“Are you ready for your Halloween party, Mom?” Greg asked, apparently satisfied with the kettle and took to toddling after her as she grabbed the car keys and cell phone from her purse.

“Almost,” she replied, trying to decide where to keep these things on her.

She’d just give them to Jonathan, he’d have pockets after all. Speaking of Jonathan, how long did it take to find an ascot? Greg followed her as she returned down the hall. Wirt’s door was still shut, so she knocked on it as she passed, smiling when Greg followed suit and banged his fists on it.

It really was cute, even if Wirt didn’t think so.

“Your costume’s really pretty, Mom. Who are you dressed as again?” Greg continued his questions into the master bedroom.

“I’m Daphne from Scooby-Doo,” she told him.

“Oh yeah! You look just like her! Except even more pretty!”

“Thank you, honey,” she cooed, then nearly collided with Jon as he burst out of the closet with a scrap of orange cloth in hand.

“Found it!” He grinned triumphantly.

“Ah, the ever elusive ascot.” Amy smiled fondly as he quickly tied it around his neck. “All set?”

“I am indeed. Hey, buddy. Nice elephant costume.” Jon gave Greg a thumbs up.

Their son gave him one right back. “Nice Fred costume!”

“Did he tell you he wanted to be an elephant for Halloween?” she asked Jonathan while Greg scampered out of the room.

He shook his head. “No. I just assumed that was what he was going for. You know, with the trunk.” He tapped the top of his head, his hair gelled so thickly to resemble the cartoon character that it crunched a little.

At least he didn’t have to shove it all under a wig, his hair was light enough that it could pass for Freddie’s. “Here, you’re holding the keys and my phone tonight.”

“Yes, dear.” He gave her a peck on the cheek as he pocketed both. “Are the boys good to go?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she sighed, frowning when he chuckled.  “It’s not funny. You’d think that we have a whole barn full of kids instead of just two.”

“Well, in all fairness, Greg has the energy of about three kids.”

They ran into Wirt as they entered the hallway. He was pulling the ladder down for the attic, but froze when he spotted them. Amy smiled, relieved to see him out.

“Are you dressing up after all?” she asked, unable to think of any other reason why he’d venture up into the attic.

“Uh… yeah,” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

“That’s great, sweetie. There’s a bunch of old things up there that should make a nice, quick, little costume,” she encouraged him. “And don’t worry about looking underdressed next to Greg. He’s only got a tea kettle on his head so far.”

Wirt looked up at that, his brow furrowed as he wrapped his head around the idea of a tea kettle making a costume. “Why?”

“He’s an elephant,” she and Jon replied together.

“Ah.” Wirt’s lips quirked up a little as he accepted that, then he frowned and shook his head. “Well, that’s nice, but I’m not going to be seen with him anyway.”

Amy’s smile fell. “What?”

“I’m- I’m going to the football game. So, I can’t take Greg trick-or-treating.” Wirt climbed up the ladder.

“That’s great, kiddo!” Jon praised, then shrunk under Amy’s scowl. “I mean… uh… well, who will take your brother trick-or-treating then?”

“I don’t know. He’s not my problem,” Wirt replied as he rifled through boxes.

Amy tried a different approach. “Sweetheart, can’t you take Greg with you to the game after you finish taking him around the neighborhood? I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.”

She and Jon exchanged glances yet again. “Wirt, please. We don’t really have time to figure this out, we have to go.”

“This is a big deal to me, Mom. I have to do this. He can miss trick-or-treating for one year, can’t he? It’s not like he needs anymore candy than he already gets.”

Amy wasn’t sure if that was a dig on Greg’s energy levels or on his weight. Sure, Greg was chubbier than Wirt had ever been as a child, but it was a natural sort of roundness and she did not want him feeling bad about it. He looked absolutely adorable just the way he was. She opened her mouth to tell Wirt not to say things like that, regardless if he’d meant it that way or not, but someone else beat her to it.

“Wirt’s right, Mom. It’s okay if I don’t go trick-or-treating this year.” Greg had wandered back into the hall sometime during their conversation.

“See? He doesn’t even want to go,” Wirt added.

“Yeah! I don’t even want to go!” Greg repeated, and Amy suddenly realized exactly what happened.

Her words had come back to bite her. Greg was listening to Wirt because he was the boss tonight. He was the leader. She rubbed her temples wearily while Jon placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She appreciated the contact, but it didn’t shed any light on what to do in this situation.

“We don’t have to go to the party,” Jon told her. “I can call Ross and tell him that something came up and we can’t make it.”

“What? Why?” Greg piped up, hands going to his hips. “You guys are dressed up so nice, why wouldn’t you go to the party?”

Amy covered her mouth and glanced between the two of them, well-aware that Wirt was still listening from the attic. “He’s right, and you’ve been looking forward to this. I have, too.”

But what to do? While it was great that Wirt was showing some interest in going out with his peers, at the same time she didn’t want it to be a ploy to get out of looking after his younger brother. No, no, clearly there was something he wanted to do, he wouldn’t do something so big like willingly go to a football game just to get out of spending time with Greg. He could do that easily enough by hiding in his room.

So she couldn’t make him watch him, but Greg was six. They couldn’t exactly leave him home alone either. An idea popped in her head and Amy made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Amy?” Jon called after her.

“I’m going to call Mrs. Daniels,” she told him as she dialed her long-time neighbor and go-to babysitter for the past twelve years or so. “I’ll see if she can watch Greg for a few hours.” It wasn’t trick-or-treating, she mused sadly, but Greg hardly seemed put out by it. Bless him for being so adaptable.

Within five minutes, she had Greg and Jonathan in the car and left Wirt a set of keys to the front door.

“I told Mrs. Daniels that you would pick Greg up after the game is over, but call me if you decide to do something afterwards,” she told him through his bedroom door. “We can leave the party early to pick him up if we have to.”

“Okay,” he called back, snipping something with scissors.

“I put out a bowl of candy on the front porch for trick-or-treaters, so leave the lights on when you head out.”

“Okay.”

“Be safe, and dress warmly. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

“ _Okay_.”

“And most importantly, have fun, okay sweetie? I love you.”

“Yeah, Mom… love you, too.”

She had to smile at his awkward reply. Even if he was a moody teenager, he was still her little boy. And even if tonight wasn’t going exactly as planned, it still worked out. Wirt deserved to have some fun, heavens knew she worried about that enough. And Greg loved hanging out with Mrs. Daniels. Plus, the woman had enough candy in her back pocket to feed the entire town. He wouldn’t be missing out on the spirit of Halloween.

-0-

Four hours into the party found her lurking by the snack table. It was the first Halloween party she’d been to since she was a teenager herself, and Amy had to say she didn’t feel as though she’d been missing out on much. While she enjoyed dressing up and the compliments on hers and Jon’s matching costumes, it was a little awkward to be mingling with her sons’ elementary school teachers. There were other people there, of course, but since Ross Denham was the P.E. teacher and the host of the party, most of the people invited were fellow teachers.

Still, she was glad they were able to make it this year. Jon was having a great time and the food was pretty good. Ross’s wife went all out making the snacks fit for Halloween. She was chatting with her about her recipe for the Devil’s Deviled Eggs she’d set out when Jonathan grabbed her attention.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked him, noticing that he had her cell phone to his ear. “Is it Wirt?”

He shook his head, eyes wide as he listened to whoever was on the other side. “It’s the hospital.”

Amy stared at him, then immediately grabbed onto his arm and dragged him to the front yard of the house, away from the noise and the people. The cold, night air was rough on her throat, but she’d needed some air anyway. Still did. Why was the hospital calling them?

“What happened?” she pressed.

Her worry flitted straight to Wirt. It was Halloween. Flashes of teen drunk drivers careening right into her unsuspecting son burst in her mind as she waited impatiently for Jon to get all the details.

“I understand. Right, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Thank you so much, I’m sorry you couldn’t get a hold of us sooner. Thank you.” Jon hung up, still pale and wide-eyed. “They’re okay-”

“ _They’re_?” Amy’s stomach churned and she regretted eating even a single Devil’s Deviled Egg.

“Yeah, Wirt and Greg are both at the hospital,” he confirmed, handing her the phone while he dug out the keys from his pocket.

“Why?”

They ran to the car, Jon taking the driver’s seat. “I don’t know what happened exactly, but they were found in the lake – you know, the big lake by the cemetery? – I don’t know how they ended up in there, but apparently Wirt got Greg out before he lost consciousness. Greg’s awake now, but Wirt’s still out-”

“Oh my god.” Amy sank into the passenger seat as they sped off. “Oh god, our boys.”

“They’re going to be okay, Amy,” he told her firmly, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “They’re strong. They’re going to be okay.”

She looked at him. His expression was stony, jaw clenched tight as his Adam’s apple bobbed. She placed her hand on his knee. His assurances were more for himself than for her. She checked her phone, paling at the call history.

“They called three times?” she gasped.

“I didn’t recognize the number, I thought it was a prank call or a wrong number,” he groaned, obviously kicking himself for not picking up sooner. “They left a message after the second call, that’s when I called them back.”

Amy nodded, trembling as she wondered how long her sons had needed them. How had this happened? How did they end up in the lake by the cemetery? When Wirt didn’t call, she assumed he went home after the football game, picked up Greg, and took him home. She’d pictured the two of them snacking on the candy Mrs. Daniels surely gave Greg, then Wirt having to fight with Greg to get him in his pajamas because that was always an ordeal, then giving up and letting him stay up with him watching old Twilight Zone episodes until they both passed out on the couch.

That’s what she expected to happen. That was what should’ve happened.

Now all she could envision was Wirt, unconscious and skin tinged blue with lungs full of icy water, or Greg, trembling and crying and so, so cold. She choked on the tears those images inspired.

Their car screeched into the hospital parking lot. Just shy of sprinting, she and Jon raced inside.

“Wirt Palmer and Gregory Whelan,” she demanded of the front desk breathlessly. “We’re their parents. They said- they came in from the lake-”

“Let’s see… ah, Palmer and Whelan. Yes, they’re in the pediatrics wing, Mr. and Mrs. Whelan. They’re quite popular this evening.”

“What?” She and Jonathan exchanged glances, but forwent questioning it further to follow the nurse to see their boys as quickly as possible.

“They’re both awake and recovering well. They both have bumps to the head, most likely due to the fall they experienced-.”

“The fall?” Amy pressed, wringing her hands together.

“Yes, it seems that they fell down a hill before falling into the lake. They bumped their heads on the way down and were unconscious for a brief period of time underwater. Eyewitness accounts claim that Wirt regained consciousness first and carried Gregory to safety. They’re hypothermic, but we’re warming them up as we speak. Other than some minor scrapes and bruises, that seems to be the extent of their injuries so far. There doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage, but we want to keep them overnight for observation. Possibly the weekend if the doctor thinks that’s necessary.”

“Okay,” Jon breathed. “Okay, yeah. That’s fine, whatever you think is best.”

“Their room is just ahead.”

“Oh, thank god.” Amy hurried to over to it, Jonathan right on her tail.

She threw open the door, clutching the handle in her shaky grasp as she prepared for the worst.

“Hi, Mom!”

Greg was hopping up and down in the middle of the room, holding a frog in his hands while a group of teenagers surrounded him. He was dressed in thick, blue pajamas – for warmth – and his hair had even been combed. Who had thought to comb his hair? Amy clasped her hand over her mouth as she trembled with relief. Greg grinned up at her and he set the frog down before running right up to her. She immediately dropped into a crouch to hug him close. He was warm and safe, not at all the cold, nearly drowned image she’d feared.

“Mom! Mom, you won’t believe what happened!” he babbled to her as his arms went around her neck to hug back. “We were walking and we were chased by a monster dog and then we had pumpkin shoes and picked corn and Beatrice said she was gonna grant me a wish to be a tiger-!”

“That’s wonderful, baby.” With her youngest securely in her arms, she immediately sought out her oldest.

Wirt smiled at her from where he was tucked up in bed, then gave a little wave that was so hesitant and so him that she just started to cry. What did it matter if they were in a room full of teenagers? These were her babies.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” Greg asked, patting her back. “Did another cricket jump out of the curtains and scare you?”

“No, honey. No, I’m just so happy that you’re okay.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then stepped aside to let Jon have his turn while she went to Wirt’s side. Her patient husband seemed content to take in the entire scene, brimming with relief, but he didn’t waste a second before scooping Greg up into his arms.

“Of course I’m okay!” Greg told her. “Wirt saved me!”

All eyes in the room went to her oldest, who immediately blushed and pulled the blankets up higher to cover his embarrassment. “What? No- no, I didn’t-”

“Yeah you did, Wirt.” The girl sitting on the edge of his bed, Amy recognized her as Sara from several of Wirt’s classes over the years, smiled at him and nodded. “We all saw you carry him out of the lake.”

“Yeah! You’re a real hero,” another girl in a bluebird costume added.

“A Pilgrim!” Greg chirped.

The color faded from Wirt’s cheeks as he wrung his blanket in his hands. “No, I’m really not… It’s not like I could just leave him…”

Amy ran her fingers through her son’s hair and watched as his eyes closed while he leaned into the touch. Sara smiled at her, then relinquished her spot at Wirt’s bedside for her. With a quiet thank you, she sat down.

“We’d better get going so you guys can get some rest,” Sara addressed the room. “Is it okay if I come by and see you tomorrow, Wirt?”

Wirt fidgeted. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great- fine. It’s fine with me. Um. Right.”

Sara chuckled softly. “Right. Okay, see you tomorrow. Feel better. You, too, Greg.” She ruffled Greg’s hair, messing up the smooth comb job in a single motion.

“When you come back tomorrow, I can tell you the rest of the story!” Greg told her as he handed her a black top hat, then waved as she and the other teens filed out of the room. “I didn’t even get to the part about Uncle Endicott’s ghost!”

“Gregory, why is there a frog on your bed?” Jonathan asked as the room quieted down.

“Because he’s cold!” he replied, as if that explained everything. “See his socks?”

“Yeah, I see them.”

Jonathan carried Greg over to Wirt’s bed instead. To his and her surprise, Wirt scooted over and patted the space next to him and Greg immediately wiggled out of Jon’s arms to settle on the bed beside him. While Wirt made sure he was covered with the blanket, too, she and Jon exchanged wide-eyed glances. Well, they had been through a rather traumatic evening.

“Do you guys want to hear the rest of the story?” Greg asked them once he was comfortably nestled against Wirt. “It’s a pretty great story.”

“Maybe we should wait to tell them the story, Greg,” Wirt spoke up. “I mean, it’s late and I’m sure Mom and your da- and um… Jonathan need time to process… this.”

“But we can’t wait to hear it, buddy,” Jon told him. “It sounds like you two had quite the adventure.”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Wirt agreed, appearing softer than he had in years.

Amy leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, took his hand and squeezed it, then blinked as Greg copied her on Wirt’s cheek. Both of her sons seemed equally surprised by it. Wirt stared at Greg who blinked right back at him, as if he hadn’t expected to get that far. Then Greg gasped and leapt from the bed.

“Jason Funderberker feels left out!” he shouted.

“Jason Funderberker?” Jon looked absolutely perplexed. “The boy who played the french horn in Wirt’s class?”

“No, Dad, our frog!”

“Yeah, our frog’s named… um… Jason Funderberker…” Wirt mumbled.

Amy stared at him. “Your frog?”

“Mmhm.” He shrugged a little. “Our frog.”

“Our frog! I found him and Wirt named him and now he’s good luck forever!” Greg chimed in. “Wirt took me surprise frog hunting while we were trying to get Sara’s tape back- oh, Wirt! Did you ever get the tape back from Sara? That’s what started the whole thing. I saw Wirt across the street from Mrs. Daniels’s house, so I went to go play with him since he looked lonely, then he let me see the tape!”

It seemed Greg was going to tell them the story of what happened regardless. Amy couldn’t complain though, it was a delight to be able to hear one of Greg’s stories, even more so when Wirt would interject from time to time to correct him. She wrapped an arm around him and tucked him against her, teary-eyed once again when he let his head rest against her shoulder like when he was little.

“I was scared, Mom,” he whispered while Greg carried on and on.

Her heart ached for him, for them both. Despite Greg’s exuberance, they were still in a hospital room because they still nearly drowned. She kissed Wirt’s head again and squeezed his side.

“I know you were,” she told him softly. “But I’m so proud of you, you know that? You’re okay, your brother’s okay, and that’s all that matters right now. And it’s okay that you were scared. What you went through was very scary. I’m still scared and I wasn’t even there.” Though that was a big reason for why she still felt so rattled. “But you don’t have to worry now. I’m here and you’re okay.”

He nodded against her and closed his eyes. She held him until he fell asleep, watching as Greg also grew sleepy during his wild story about being chased by a gorilla. He had the most fascinating imagination, and if this adventure thing helped him cope with nearly drowning, then she was in no way going to discourage it. She did ask him to put the story on hold while he slept though, as Jon coaxed him into his bed, then tucked him and the frog in for the night. Greg yawned mid-sentence, then drifted off with his smile still stretched across his face. Their little boy was a miracle.

Jon rejoined her at Wirt’s bed and lightly caressed the top of his head. Both of their boys were miracles. Jonathan helped her ease Wirt down and fix his blankets, then they dragged two chairs in between the two beds.

They stepped out briefly to consult with the boys’ doctor, to get a more detailed description of their care and what to look out for. It didn’t take longer than fifteen minutes, but when they returned to the room, it was to find Greg’s bed empty and Wirt’s with two extra occupants. Both boys and the frog were all sound asleep.

They took their seats quietly. As Amy let her head fall to Jonathan’s shoulder, she realized she still had on her orange wig. She was still dressed as Daphne and he was still dressed as Freddie. They looked at each other at the same time, then looked at each sleeping boy and back to each other again. Then they muffled their gasps of laughter with their hands.

“We look ridiculous,” she breathed, nearly delirious with relief.

“We look amazing,” he replied as he snuggled up to her, both of them content to spend the rest of Halloween watching over their boys while they dreamed. “Not exactly the Halloween we planned on having, huh?”

"No, not exactly." Amy stroked the top of Wirt’s head as he curled towards Greg in his sleep.

But maybe her boys had ended up bonding somehow after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note here regarding Two Roads, I posted a little bit about it on my tumblr, but I wanted to put it here to for my readers who don't necessarily follow me there. I have decided to cancel today’s update for Two Roads in order to work on it some more over the weekend. I want it to be a quality chapter for you all to enjoy, and I’d really feel better if I held onto it until Monday to work out some more of the kinks in it. It was really stressing me out and writing for OTGW should be fun and happy, not all stressed and icky feeling. Thank you so much for understanding, and in the meantime, I’ll be posting some more prompts and things over the weekend, too.


	7. The Snow and the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "Could you write about that skiing trip, please?"
> 
> One skiing trip, coming right up! As a reference, I used Smugglers’ Notch in Vermont as the place where the Palmer-Whelans are vacationing, though you can pretty much picture this happening anywhere, maybe. It’s set the February before Two Roads, President’s Day weekend since Wirt and Greg (and Jon) have a four day weekend. Also, 80s spy shows are a delight.

“General Funderberker! Come in, General Funderberker! There’s been a security leak! My position’s been compromised! I repeat, my position’s been compromised! Get out! Get out while you still can- _ah_!” The walkie-talkie fell from Greg’s hands into the snow as he was grabbed by the enemy and hauled into the air, upside down. “No!” he cried out, dramatically stretching his arms out towards his fallen radio, but only static crackled on the other end.

Well, static had crackled on the other end before he dropped it, too. Jason Funderberker kept changing his mind on what channel and frequency he wanted them to talk at, never mind the fact that Jason Funderberker couldn’t talk. That wasn’t the point. The point was that those walkie-talkies were their only means of communication on their super secret mission, and now Greg’s was out of his reach in his darkest hour…

He was at the mercy… of his big brother.

“I’ll never talk!” he shouted, knit hat falling right off his head. “You can torture me all you want, but I’ll never betray my people!”

“Good, I don’t want you to talk,” Wirt replied, shifting Greg’s weight so he could free up one of his hands to grab the walkie-talkie and hat.

Greg puffed up his cheeks and crossed his arms, frowning at Wirt as best as he could while dangling upside down. “That’s not how a member of the KGB is supposed to talk.”

Wirt sighed. “Are you still playing Cold War? Greg, how many times do I have to tell you that the Cold War didn’t actually have anything to do with being cold? The KGB didn’t build a giant weather machine that would cause the world to be trapped in an eternal winter. The U.S. didn’t instigate the biggest, deadliest snowball fight ever. And neither side had anything to do with radioactive avalanches burying the headquarters of the United Nations.”

“I’m telling you, Wirt, it was all a cover-up to hide their secret snow agenda,” Greg replied as Wirt carried him through the snow, back to where he’d left their parents and Jason Funderberker at a picnic table outside of the ski lodge to hold down the fort.

Clearly he needed to find new comrades because the ones he had led the enemy right to him. Their mom waved as they approached, smiling as if she hadn’t betrayed him by telling Wirt where he’d been hiding. Greg shook his head. She just wasn’t cut out for the bureau. Neither was his dad. He’d set Jason Funderberker on the snow-covered picnic table, out in the open and without a disguise to protect him. He was a sitting duck. They all were.

“You really need to stop watching those eighties spy shows,” Wirt muttered.

“I will when you stop being a jerk,” Greg fired back, sticking his tongue out at him.

“I’ll stop being a jerk when you stop taking my tape recorder and walkie-talkies without permission. Did you have them with you this whole time?”

Greg shook his head, starting to get a little dizzy from all the blood rushing to it. “C’mon, Wirt, give me some credit. I snuck them into Mom’s purse before we left the hotel room. I wasn’t going to go to my skiing lesson with highly advanced spy equipment in my pants.”

“Oh, good to know you’ve got some sense after all. Not that it amounts to much more than two pennies.” Wirt turned him around and set him on the ground.

“Hey, my sense amounts to more than that,” he protested. “I’ll have you know I’ve got three dollars and twenty-two cents in my pocket and another eighty-six cents in my piggy bank back home.”

“You’re not funny,” Wirt told him.

Greg tried to stomp on his brother’s foot, but he was one step ahead of him, literally, and he missed. “You started it.” When Wirt grinned at him, Greg gave up being grumpy – he really wasn’t any good at it – and smiled back. “How was your ski lesson?”

“Well, I learned the proper way to fall. A lot.” Wirt rubbed his lower back through his thick, snow jacket. “How about yours?”

Preening, Greg threw his arms out wide. “I was the best in my class! Everyone said so!”

“Really?” Wirt smiled at him. “That’s great! So you had fun?”

“Yeah, but I want to go sledding now. You did promise we’d go sledding after the ski lessons,” he reminded him.

“It’s tubing, Greg.” Wirt corrected and shrugged. “And you’ll have to see if Mom and Jonathan have anything planned for us after this. They might want to keep skiing.”

“Well, _they_ can ski and _you_ can take me to the tubing place that we passed on our way here,” he reasoned.

His brother lifted his eyebrow. “What if I want to ski?”

“You just said you spent the whole time falling on your face. You’d have to be nuts if you wanted to keep doing that and look like a nerd when you could be sledding with me instead.”

Wirt narrowed his eyes, then scoffed and looked away from him. “Whatever. Like I said, go ask Mom and Jonathan.”

“Okay!” Greg ran ahead of him the rest of the way to his parents and Jason Funderberker. “Mom! Dad! You gave my position away!”

“Sorry, honey. The enemy asked very nicely.” His mom grinned.

All decked out in her ski clothes, she actually looked like a professional or an Olympic contender. She could ski like one, too, in Greg’s opinion. She hadn’t needed any lessons. She dropped Greg off at his ski class, then went to tackle the triple black diamond. Well, she warmed up first, then went to the triple black diamond. His dad on the other hand didn’t know the first thing about skiing. He was pretty sure while he and Wirt had been getting lessons, their mom had to give him some as well.

“There’ll be other missions, buddy,” his dad told him, patting the bench beside him. “But it’s about time for international spies to take a break for lunch, what do you say?”

“Roger that, mission control. I don’t think the zombie snowman attack is scheduled until tomorrow anyway,” Greg replied, taking a seat.

“Darn those zombie snowmen.” His dad clenched his fist and shook it at the sky.

“You’re adding zombie snowmen to the mix now?” Wirt snorted as he joined them.

“I’m not,” Greg defended. “The KGB are. Secret snow agenda, remember, Wirt?”

“Yeah. I remember, Greg,” he sighed.

Greg nodded, then turned to their parents again. “After lunch can me, Wirt, and Jason Funderberker go sledding?”

“Tubing,” Wirt corrected yet again.

“ _Tubing_ ,” Greg repeated, but shot his brother a withering look. “It’s pretty much the same thing as sledding, Wirt, and you all know what I’m talking about anyway.”

Wirt blinked, then tugged his scarf up to hide his mouth as he did the teenager equivalent of pouting. Greg giggled and got kicked at in response. He kicked back, instigating an under-the-table kicking war that had their mom rolling her eyes and his dad betting on both of them for the winner. It ended when Greg overshot his kick and banged his foot on the picnic table.

“Okay, that’s enough, boys,” their mom stepped in, giving them all – including their dad – warning looks. “It doesn’t matter what it’s called because the tubing place doesn’t open until four o’clock.”

Greg’s face fell. “Four o’clock? Aw. Ain’t that just the way?”

Even Wirt looked a bit disappointed, but he covered it up with a small smile. “Hey, it’s not so bad, Greg. By the time we’re done with lunch, it’ll probably only be about two hours before they open. We can find something fun to do for two hours.”

“I know we can. I just don’t like waiting,” Greg replied, much to the amusement of his family. “What? I don’t.”

“Has anyone ever told you the best things in life are worth waiting for?” their mom asked with a smile.

“Why would anyone say that? They’re clearly lying.”

His dad shook his head, then gave him a one-armed hug. “Patient, my son, you are not. Come on. Lunch waits for no man! Or woman.”

He got up and held his hand out to their mom, linking their arms together as they headed into the lodge. Greg hopped up after them, pocketing the second walkie-talkie still on the table, and held his hand out to Jason Funderberker. The frog didn’t take it, but Wirt picked up him up and attempted to do it for him. Their frog simply stared at them both, trying to convey to the boys how not amused he was with this situation. Eventually they gave up, and Wirt let Greg link their arms instead while the older of the two carried Jason Funderberker.

Lunch was tasty enough – and he sure was hungry enough – that it didn’t feel like such a big deal to wait for the tubing place to open. Afterwards though, as his family debated what to do next, it felt like each minute was an entire hour. Mom wanted to either going skiing some more or shop, Dad wanted to take a nap, and Wirt didn’t care what they did. Greg sighed as they stood outside of the ski lodge, eyeing the trees and the hills of snow.

“If we had a sled of our own, our problems would be solved,” he told Jason Funderberker.

The frog croaked his agreement.

“There’s gotta be something we can do that’s like the tubing place. I mean, there are plenty of snow hills around here.” Greg gestured around. “I wish I’d brought my sled with us, but it was too big for the car, huh?”

Sure, he could go sledding any time he wanted at home and this was a special skiing trip for skiing, but what could he say? He wanted to go sledding with Wirt. Not that skiing wasn’t fun, it was, and he was looking forward to riding on the big lift at some point this weekend. Just after sledding.

Jason Funderberker croaked, catching Greg’s attention. “What is it?” He was looking at something, so Greg looked, too. “Toboggan rentals?”

He lit up. Toboggan rentals! Perfect! There was a little stall, open with a line and people walking away from it with big, plastic, red and blue toboggans. Greg grinned and unzipped one of the pockets in his snow pants. He had three dollars and twenty-two cents after all! More than enough to rent a toboggan! Money in one hand, frog in the other, Greg hurried over to the kiosk.

-0-

Despite the almost excessive amount of layers he was wrapped in, Wirt still felt cold as they left the warmth of the lodge in favor of the winter air. Practically second nature at this point, he glanced at Greg just to check on him. His little brother didn’t seem to notice the cold at all. He was too busy watching the hills and the trees with an almost forlorn look. Wirt couldn’t help smiling. At four o’clock on the dot, they’d be at that tubing place, he’d make sure of it.

For now, though, it would be nice to keep moving in some fashion to warm up a bit. He turned back to his mom, who was trying to wheedle one more run out of Jonathan. That wasn’t happening. While Jonathan liked to think he could ski, the reality was that the man was worse than Wirt was. Where Wirt overthought every motion and would break too often, Jonathan just went with it, hoping for the best. That trait seemed pretty prominent in Greg, but if his little brother was telling the truth about his ski lessons, then maybe he’d inherited their mom’s natural talent to make up for it.

“You don’t have to stop skiing just because we don’t want to,” Wirt piped up. “I mean, I think I need a break, at least. And I don’t think Greg’s going to have the patience to ski safely if he’s thinking about going tubing.”

His mom crossed her arms. “You know if he doesn’t have something to keep himself busy, he’ll be impossible.”

Wirt shrugged. “There’s that ice skating rink by our room. I could take him there for a bit.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, Wirt,” Jonathan commended, grinning as he gave him a pat on the shoulder, then addressed Wirt’s mom, “So I’ll walk the boys back to our room, they can go ice skating since it’s right in front, I’ll get my nap, and you can ski or shop all you want with zero complaining from the peanut gallery over here.”

Wirt and Jonathan gestured to themselves while she shook her head. “So much for this being a family trip,” she feigned displeasure, but her smile gave her away.

“We had a family lunch,” Wirt pointed out. “And we can have a family dinner.”

“Plus we have all day tomorrow to ski together,” Jonathan added. “And if you want, we can squeeze some more in before we leave on Monday.”

His mom nodded. “I know, and it’s a good plan. I’m sure ice skating will be more than fun enough to get Greg’s mind off of tubing. Won’t it, Greg?”

Wirt watched as surprise colored his mom’s face when she looked behind him, then confusion, and by the time he turned around to see just what Greg was doing back there, her expression had turned to exasperation. Greg wasn’t with them. Wirt’s brow furrowed as he scanned the crowd, the snow, the trees.

“Greg?” he called out, but he didn’t answer him.

“I swear, that boy loves to test us,” their mom sighed, but Wirt could hardly hear it over the way his heart hammered in his ears.

He just checked on him, not even a minute ago. Where had he gone? It wasn’t like he could’ve gone far. Why had he turned his back on him? Didn’t he know better than that by now?

Wirt took in a shaky breath, arms held tight against his stomach. This wasn’t the same situation at all, he didn’t need to panic. There were a ton of families here, a ton of buildings. They weren’t lost in the middle of the deepest, darkest woods he’d ever known.

Even if a deep, dark woods stretched on into the mountains ahead of them. The same deep, dark woods Greg had been looking at with longing the last time Wirt checked. He gripped his hair from under his red, knit hat, a sharp ache stabbing him in the gut as he pined for the familiarity of the cone hat.

“We’ve- we’ve gotta find him,” Wirt blurted out, glancing between his mom and Jonathan rapidly, as rapidly as his breathing has turned.

_Stop it,_ he told himself, jamming his fist over his heart as it decided to jump and stutter in his chest. _He didn’t go into the woods._ But what if he did? And it was cold. Did Greg remember to put his gloves back on after lunch? What about his hat? Wirt couldn’t remember if he’d put his hat on. Did he even have a hat? He knew he didn’t have earmuffs, Greg hated wearing earmuffs. It wasn’t like earmuffs would do much good anyway though, he could go without earmuffs, but not without his hat or gloves or scarf. The extremities were the first things to succumb to the cold. If Greg wasn’t wearing his gloves, he could get frostbite. If he wasn’t wearing his hat, heat would escape from his body until he didn’t have any left and he’d get colder and colder and fall asleep somewhere in the snow because that’s what happened when hypothermia set it, you went to sleep in the cold and never woke up because your heart stopped. If he wasn’t wearing his scarf- well, Wirt just felt better when Greg wore a scarf.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t even register the way his mom and step-dad glanced at each other.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Wirt,” she spoke lightly, forcing him to look at her. “Wirt, it’s okay. He can’t have gone far.”

“And this is a family resort. Kids are walking around unsupervised all over the place, the security is top-notch,” Jonathan added. “Let’s just retrace our steps. He probably got distracted by something, that’s all. Or maybe this is part of his spy game.”

“Spy game,” Wirt breathed, the tightness in his chest easing a bit as he managed a choked laugh. “Right. His spy game. Of course. He still has my other walkie-talkie.” He took out the one he’d taken back and pressed the button to speak. “Greg? It’s Wirt. Um, come in, over.”

He and his parents stared at the walkie-talkie, listening as static answered them. Wirt checked the channel. It was the same one Greg had it on when he’d been playing earlier. He frowned and tried again.

“Greg, I mean it, answer me.”

The other end only crackled with static. Wirt looked helplessly to his mom and Jonathan, shaking the walkie-talkie at them. “This is the right channel, isn’t it?”

His mom reached out for him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder to tuck him into her side despite the fact that he was taller than her. “It’s okay. We’re going to find him. You know Greg, he does this sort of thing all the time.”

But he didn’t do it when evergreen trees towered over them coated in ice and snow. Not quite the menacing Edelwoods, but did it really make a difference? There was snow everywhere.

“I’ll check inside the lodge, maybe he went back in for something,” Jonathan volunteered, leaving the two of them to do a quick search.

Wirt tried the walkie-talkie again. “This isn’t funny, Greg!”

His mom took it from him. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”

“Why isn’t he answering? Do you think something happened? Something happened, didn’t it? Something cut the signal.” He was thinking out loud more than talking to his mom.

“Wirt, come on, we’re going to sit down.”

“No, we have to go look for him, there isn’t time to sit down,” he told her as he pulled away from her and ran. “Greg! Greg!”

Hypothermia accounted for fifteen hundred deaths in the United States every year. Sure, it wasn’t a giant number, but anyone could be part of that statistic, couldn’t they? Greg almost was. He’d been so cold. Carrying him on his back, even through his clothes, Greg had felt like solid ice. With each step towards home, Wirt could feel him getting colder and heavier. He couldn’t feel him breathe or fidget. He was still and silent the entire time and so very, very cold.

He’d been just as cold out of The Unknown as well. Carrying him from the lake felt no different than carrying him through the snow.

But this was different, Wirt told himself as he frantically searched the blurred faces of the children he ran past. This wasn’t the same thing at all and he was overreacting. But then why wasn’t Greg answering him on the walkie-talkie? His chest tightened, breathing shallow as he looked to the woods beyond the ski lodge.

The trees could possibly interfere with a walkie-talkie signal, right? No, they were radios. As long as Greg didn’t go too far, they should be able to work no matter what. Wirt scanned the forest quickly. Technically it was off-limits, but that wouldn’t stop Greg.

“Greg!”

“Wirt! Wirt, why would he be in there?” His mom had followed him, grabbing his arm before he could run off again. “Come on, we’ll check over by the ice cream. You know Greg loves ice cream.”

He yanked his arm out of her grasp. “We need to make sure he’s not out there, Mom!”

“Sweetheart, you need to calm down. Exhale. Count to five in your head and exhale,” she tried to coax him. “Come on, just take a minute to breathe-”

He shook his head. “Mom, I don’t have time to _breathe_!”

“You’re too pale and we’re at a high altitude-”

“I don’t care! I have to find Greg!” He spun away from her, storming right into the trees when all the adrenaline pumping through him drained with a single word.

“Wirt?”

Wirt stumbled over himself as he turned around. With a bright blue and red toboggan in his glove covered hands, Greg looked between him and their mom curiously. Jason Funderberker was perched on top of his head – that was indeed covered with a hat – and both seemed to be in one piece. They were fine. Greg was fine.

Greg’s eyes went wide, Wirt noticed that before he realized the world tilted violently to one side. “Wirt!”

He was sitting in the snow. Vision spotty and ears ringing, Wirt struggled with how he ended up there. He didn’t know why he’d decided to sit in the snow. Apparently his body thought it would be a good idea and his mind hadn’t quite caught up with the logic behind it. That and he couldn’t feel his legs.

His mom didn’t think it was such a good idea though, and neither did Greg because both of them grabbed onto him to pull him back to his feet. “Greg, hold onto your brother,” their mom told him as she braced him on one side. “We’re going to find Dad and then go back to the room.”

“I already found Dad,” Greg piped up. “He’s right over there.”

Wirt blinked as his step-dad hurried over to them, almost comedic as he floundered through the snow decked out in his ski gear. He glanced from Wirt to Greg to their mom, confusion furrowing his brow, and Wirt quickly realized that he wasn’t the only one giving them strange looks. Embarrassment overshadowed relief. He fought to get one of his arms loose, but neither Greg nor their mom would let him go.

“What happened?” Jonathan asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wirt muttered. “I lost my balance, that’s all.”

His mom shot him a warning glance. “We’re taking him back to the room so he can lie down. He’s a bit dizzy.”

“No, I’m not, I’m fine. Everything’s fine now. Greg’s here, I’m here, Jason Funderberker is here, we’re all here and we’re all fine!” Wirt cringed as his vision blurred and his entire body felt like it was being pricked with pins and needles. “We’re fine.”

“We can be fine and still lie down for a bit, can’t we?” Greg asked.

Wirt was torn between brushing his brother off or checking him over to make sure he was really okay. Given that they’d already attracted enough attention, Wirt didn’t act on either and let himself be led away from the trees. Jonathan said something about returning the rental, but Wirt couldn’t really make sense of it. Okay, so maybe he was a little lightheaded because he hadn’t been breathing right, but that was still no reason for his mom and Greg to baby him. Greg was the one who’d been missing. He was the one who needed to be checked on. He was the one who could freeze to death.

Jonathan caught up with them by the time they got to their room. He fished out their key and unlocked the door for them all. Greg ran inside ahead of them to clear the couch off, then glanced between it and Wirt.

“Should I unfold our bed?” Greg asked. “What do you want, Wirt? Bed or couch?”

“The couch is fine, Greg,” Wirt told him, then felt a sharp ache of fondness for his brother as he pushed the pillows against one end of the couch for him to sit against.

He sank into the cushions, then rolled his eyes as his mom stretched his legs out along the length of the couch while Greg covered him with a blanket. He climbed onto the other end of the couch to observe him with a critical eye. Sometimes his little brother could be just as bad as he was when it came to mother henning. Though he supposed he was the one to set the example, wasn’t he? Big brother and all.

“Are you still cold?” Greg pressed, reaching out to feel his ankle after Jonathan removed Wirt’s boots. “You’re really cold, Wirt.”

Wirt shook his head, tucking his legs under the blanket completely. “I’m fine, Greg.”

His mom brought him a glass of water and he drank it to appease her. Once she seemed satisfied with her older son’s condition, she focused on the younger one. Her concern turned to disapproval on a dime, and Wirt actually felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.

“Gregory, do you want to explain to me why you decided to run off without my permission? Or your dad’s?”

Wirt shifted his gaze to his brother and watched him fidget under her stare. “I was trying to rent a toboggan,” he mumbled. “So Wirt and I could go sledding. But I didn’t have enough money, so I was trying to haggle with the guy renting them. I didn’t go very far, I could see you the whole time! Except when you were gone. I turned around to ask you for money, but you weren’t there.  That’s when Dad showed up.”

“I already told him that he can’t go running off like that,” Jonathan added. “I told him that you and I would discuss his punishment.”

Their mom sighed. “Oh, we will alright. Greg, all you had to do was tell us where you were going.”

“I got excited and I didn’t think about it, I guess,” he replied.

“And why didn’t you answer when Wirt called you on the walkie-talkie?” Jonathan asked.

Greg blinked, then fished the walkie-talkie out of his pocket, compared the two channels, and paled. “Um. Well. Jason Funderberker likes to change the channels on me sometimes…”

Their mom frowned. “You made your brother worried sick.”

Greg glanced at Wirt, his expression far more devastated at hearing that then it had been when he heard he would be punished. “I’m sorry,” he told him softly.

“It’s-” Wirt couldn’t find the words to tell him it was okay, his voice stuck as he tried to convey what he wanted to say with his eyes. It only seemed to make things worse though.

“I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking about…” Greg hesitated, then scooted closer. “Please don’t cry, Wirt.”

His eyes rounded and his voice came back with a hitch. “I’m not crying.” Wirt wiped at his eyes just in case, surprised when they came away wet. “What…?”

As if his tears were some kind of magic switch, Wirt realized his breathing was still fast and shallow, his chest still ached, and he was still dizzy. Dizzy with relief or dizzy from the altitude, he wasn’t sure, but acknowledging it all in one fell swoop only made the tears fall faster and a choked sound scratched his throat as he tried to hide it.

“You’ve been crying the whole time,” Greg pointed out and Wirt covered his face. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I-” His chest tightened and when he tried to inhale it hitched and shuddered and something like a sob came out. “I’m fine!” He didn’t have to look at them to know that his family had all inched towards him in an attempt to help. “I don’t know why I’m crying, but I’m fine!”

Nothing had gone wrong, after all. Really, Greg hadn’t even been gone for that long. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t wandered off before. He wandered off all the time, it was what Greg did. Wirt dug his fingers into his scalp as he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes to try and stop the tears. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

He drew his knees up and hunched over them, resting his elbows between them as he tried to relax. He heard his mom attempt to coax Greg away, but his little brother didn’t budge an inch. Eventually she and Jonathan stepped away, retreating to their section of the room. To worry about him, probably, and to discuss what to do about Greg. Wirt stayed curled up and focused on more important things, like how to stop crying. He was seventeen years old, he was too old to be crying like this. Straight up sobbing, breathless, silent, and scared.

Greg shifted closer. He felt him wiggle around, in front of him, against his side, until he wedged himself behind Wirt. When he stilled, their backs were pressed together and the older brother could feel Greg’s slower, easy breathing flow through him. He took special care to keep his breaths steady, out and in. Out and in. Wirt shuddered several times, but his gasps for air and sniffles slowed, until Wirt’s chest stopped its spasms and he was able to match each breath inhale for exhale.

They sat together, quiet and curled up, for a long time. Greg stayed perfectly still the entire time, his back always in contact with Wirt’s. Even Jason Funderberker sat by and observed them soundlessly. They sat until his red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks, and pink nose were the only indications that Wirt had been crying at all.

It was a tight squeeze, both brothers were larger at seventeen and eight than they’d been at fifteen and six, or sixteen and seven. No, wait. Seventeen and nine. Greg was newly nine. One birthday closer to double digits, right. He was growing up just like he was supposed to.

That thought calmed him more than he realized it would. Wirt was able to release his grip on his hair and slowly lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder. Greg tilted his head back to meet his gaze, his face unreadable. The closest word Wirt could find to describe it was solemn. And solemn wasn’t a word that described the enigma that was Greg.

Wirt leaned back against him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he told him, voice hoarse and exhausted.

“Feel better?” Greg asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Greg shook his head. “It was my fault in the first place. Mom’s right, I shouldn’t have gone off without saying anything.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Wirt agreed. “But you did and we can’t change that. Just… don’t do it again?”

“I won’t.” Their snow jackets made shushing sounds as Greg shifted, trying to get comfortable wedged between Wirt and the pillows and the arm of the couch. “I know you think that I do stuff to make you mad or freak out on purpose, and I do sometimes ‘cause that’s my job, but I’d never do something to make you that scared on purpose. Protecting you is even more my job than being an annoying little brother is.”

Wirt turned that over in his mind for a minute. “You don’t have to protect me, Greg,” he settled on responding with.

“Yeah I do. Just because you’re seventeen doesn’t mean that you don’t still need taking care of.” Greg reached back to pat him on the knee. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Whispered warnings crept along the back of his neck. As sweet and as typical of his little brother as the sentiment was, something struck an ominous chord inside him. He’d have to look into more. In a few months he’d be in college, and he couldn’t need Greg there. He couldn’t let himself force that burden on his brother.

But that was for another day. Today he could be the person who needed his little brother to soothe his worries. Tomorrow he could try and need him a little less. For Greg’s sake.

“Don’t forget that’s not the only reason you’re here, okay?” Wirt told him. “You’re here for a lot more than that.”

Greg nodded slowly, but from his expression Wirt could tell he didn’t really understand what that meant. Well, that was okay. He was nine, he didn’t have to yet. Ready to erase the solemn air between them, he forced the brunt of his weight down on Greg, his smile and color returning as his brother yelped and fought to get away, trapped beneath him.

“Get off! Wirt, you’re crushing me!”

“Consider it part of your apology,” he replied, flopping over him completely. “And consider it payback.”

“You’re so fat,” Greg complained, voice muffled by Wirt’s back and the couch.

Wirt rolled his eyes, his build no less lanky than it had always been. “I was going to let you up, but for that, I’m just going to stay right here. It’s pretty comfy actually. You make a good mattress, Greg.”

“I’ll get you back for this! I know where you live!”

By the time their mom and Jonathan reentered their part of the room, Wirt had Greg in a headlock after the younger of the two attempted to free himself by tickling him. Technically it worked, but freedom came at a price and that price was having to listen to Wirt recite poetry at him.

Greg’s punishment was that they would not get to go tubing that afternoon and no dessert for a week. They’d planned on making it two weeks, but seeing that Wirt had calmed down and was back to normal for the most part made them a bit more lenient.

Of course, that was their punishment. Wirt on the other hand considered Greg’s guilt and sitting through his panic attack to be punishment enough and took him tubing anyway. He also got him an ice cream cone, providing that he promise to keep it just between them.

-0-

Later that night, on the fold-out couch bed, Greg rested on his side, watching Wirt read with his little book light so that the room was still mostly dark. He could’ve gone out to the teen hangout place, Mom and Dad had said he could, but he elected to stay in for the night even though his bedtime was way later than Greg’s was. Wirt didn’t mind sitting in the dark and having to be quiet.

The sheets rustled and Greg watched as Wirt lowered his book a little to look at him. “Is this bothering you?” he asked him.

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head.

“Why don’t you roll over so the light doesn’t keep you up?”

“Don’t want to,” he replied.

Wirt shrugged, then went back to reading. Greg continued to watch him, one arm pillowing his head and the other wrapped around the slumbering Jason Funderberker between them. Watching Wirt read was better than trying to go to sleep.

If his eyes were open, then he didn’t see Wirt fall to the ground in the snow only to get eaten up by Edelwood branches. For a terrifying second that was what he’d thought happened when all the color left his brother’s face and he collapsed right in front of him earlier that day. Because he’d been goofing off. Like always. Again.

So he watched Wirt read.

And when he closed his book and turned out the little light, Greg waited for the images to come back, to fill his stomach with dread. Instead, Wirt rolled over to face him and wrapped his arm around him. Greg blinked at him in the dark, but from what he could tell his brother’s eyes were closed.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered to him.

Greg shook his head again. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Wirt replied. “Just close your eyes.”

“I _can’t_.”

Wirt hummed under his breath. At first Greg thought it was just his way of answering him, until he recognized the tune. He relaxed as the melody warmed him, familiar and safe.

“I’m not a baby, Wirt. I don’t need a lullaby,” he pretended to complain.

His brother opened one eye at that. “Hm? That so?”

Greg hugged Jason Funderberker tighter, but didn’t confirm or deny it. Their frog croaked quietly in his sleep and Wirt adjusted the blankets around the three of them before settling down and closing his eyes again. Greg swallowed thickly, waiting.

Wirt didn’t make him wait long. “Sleep, sleep all the sleepy town,” he sang quietly. “You are the only one…”

Sighing with relief, Greg snuggled closer and closed his eyes, too. If Wirt was singing, then he wasn’t collapsing somewhere in the snow. After all, the snow and the trees didn’t only bother his brother.


	8. Best Solutions for Sleepless Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous #1: "The first time Wirt gets sick post-Unknown. It's just a fever. Nothing *too* serious, but he's too tired to really do much of anything, and he's just reminding Greg way too much of that time that Wirt almost got taken by the Edelwood tree (especially with the shivering)."
> 
> and from Anonymous #2: "We've seen your take on a sick Greg. What about a sick Wirt?"
> 
> Look at these two anons conspiring for sick!fics. Well, who am I to deny the people what they want? Here you guys go! This is also a bit for my own benefit, writing some good ol’ hurt/comfort.

Was the coast clear? Greg poked his head out into the hall, checking left, then right, then left again. Everything seemed quiet enough. Greg’s gaze narrowed. Almost too quiet.

_Ribbit._ “Shh!” Greg held his finger to his lips as he looked down at Jason Funderberker, the frog blinking at him innocently enough. “You’re gonna blow our cover,” he admonished in a hushed voice. “You can croak all you want _after_ we complete our objective.”

He checked the hallway again. Still nothing. He made all sort of signs with his hands at Jason Funderberker – their code for whenever they needed secret codes – then waved for him to follow as he tiptoed across the hall. The closed door in front of him his goal. Tongue poking out, Greg reached for the door knob and oh-so-quietly started to turn it-

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Greg cringed, then pouted. Busted. His mom stood where the hall opened up into the living room, a tray in hand and a less-than-impressed expression painting her face. He hid both hands behind his back and took a half step away from Wirt’s bedroom door.

“Nothing,” he replied innocently.

His mom lifted her eyebrow. “You know I told you to stay out of your brother’s room.”

“I’m not in his room,” he defended and Jason Funderberker croaked his agreement. Either that, or he blabbed their entire operation in a single froggy syllable.

“Gregory, this isn’t a game. Your brother needs his rest,” she replied. “He can’t play with you right now.”

“I know that, I just wanted to see if he was feeling better,” Greg told her, watching as she approached him. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

She softened a bit, adjusting her grip on the tray so she could open Wirt’s bedroom door herself. “I know you miss him, honey, but I don’t want you getting sick, too. And I’m sure Wirt feels the same way. He’ll be better soon if he keeps resting.”

Greg sighed heavily. “I know. Can I at least give him the get-well card I made for him in school today?”

She smiled a little. “Sure you can. Go on and grab it and then put it on the tray so I can give it to him for you.”

Greg nodded, then ran into his bedroom to fish it out of his backpack. It wasn’t much, a seven-year-old’s scribbles and bad penmanship, but he’d made it thinking of Wirt and with all sort of wishes that his big brother would feel better. Scampering back to his mom’s side, he brandished the card proudly, then laid it carefully on the tray next to the slices of buttered bread and the bowl of hot soup. There was some medicine and a glass of water on it, too, everything a sick person needed to get better.

When his mom opened the door and slipped inside, Greg tried to take a peek for himself, but all he could see of his brother was a mound of blankets on the bed. He tried to inch his way in, just a bit, while his mom spoke softly to him, but she turned around before he could get very far and ushered him out into the hall.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a little while, sweetie,” she called to Wirt, then closed the door. “Greg.”

“You’ll never convict! You have no proof!” he shouted, pointing at her, then scooped up Jason Funderberker and made a mad dash for the backyard.

-0-

He tried again later, when his mom stepped out to pick up more medicine and some things for dinner, leaving his dad in charge. At first, Greg thought it would be almost too easy to sneak into his brother’s room on his dad’s watch. Boy, was he wrong though.

Apparently his mom left him explicit instructions to not let Greg bother Wirt – except why didn’t she understand that he wouldn’t be bothering him, just checking on him like she was doing! – and his dad took her words to heart. His dad sat him down in the living room and tried to entertain him with board games and a puzzle, his eyes like a hawk’s and his reflexes just as sharp. Greg tried to make three breaks for it, but his dad caught him each time.

“Your brother needs to rest,” his dad told him, just as serious about it as his mom.

He knew that. He wasn’t trying to get Wirt to jump out of bed and run a marathon with him or anything, he just wanted to see him. Greg didn’t think it was that hard of a concept to understand.

Luckily for him, the phone rang and his dad had to get up and check it. With a firm stare and request for Greg to stay put, he went into the kitchen to answer the phone. Greg did stay put, for about three seconds, then hopped to his feet. His dad didn’t say how long he needed to stay put for, after all. Greg raced down the hall, Jason Funderberker in tow, and threw open the door to Wirt’s room, then immediately shut it behind him. He didn’t want to give away his position too quickly.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Greg grinned and carried the frog right over to Wirt’s bedside. Even up close he still looked like nothing more than a pile of blankets. A pile of shivering blankets. Aw, his brother was cold. Greg looked around for any more blankets, but it seemed that Wirt already had them all.

He’d just get him some of his sweaters, then. He’d like that. Greg set Jason Funderberker on the bed, then went to Wirt’s closet to grab his favorite sweaters. It was too warm for them really, and too warm to be shivering since it was the beginning of May, but Wirt was sick after all. Being sick made you feel all sorts of weird ways.

Greg tossed the sweaters onto the bed, right over Jason Funderberker, then clambered on himself. Wirt shifted under the blankets and made some sort of grunting sound. Greg shifted closer to the head of the bed, plucking a sweater from the pile as he shook Wirt’s shoulder.

“Psst, Wirt,” he whispered. “You’re cold. I brought you some sweaters. Here.”

He tried to shove it into the tightly wound blanket cocoon Wirt had created for himself, but it didn’t work very well. He tried draping it over him like a blanket, but it didn’t look like it helped much. So Greg tugged the blankets away, just for a moment so he could give Wirt the sweater.

Greg stared, arm falling limp at his side.

Wirt wasn’t just sick.

People didn’t look that terrible when they got sick, did they?

Wirt’s face was a pasty, pale white and he had the darkest bags under his eyes. His lips were chapped from breathing through his mouth, if the wheezing sounds he was making could count as breaths. His shivering got worse with the blankets gone, and in a flash Greg was watching his brother sleeping in the snow, the blanket of leaves he’d gotten for him doing nothing to keep him warm as the tree roots twined all around him.

“Greg?”

He blinked out of his stupor to find Wirt squinting at him with bleary, glossy eyes. Greg opened his mouth to reply with a clever rock fact that wasn’t true at all, but nothing came out. The crease in Wirt’s brow got deeper the longer he remained silent.

“Did you need somthin’?” he asked, nasally and croaky.

Greg shook his head. “No.” He held out the sweater to him. “I brought you a sweater.”

Wirt coughed, then wiggled to sit up on his shaky arms. He looked even more pale and Greg quickly checked under the blankets for any hidden tree roots. There weren’t any, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Wirt sniffed hard and rubbed his eyes, then sniffed again. Greg handed him a tissue from the box on his nightstand.

“Thanks,” he told him and blew his nose.

It didn’t sound like it helped at all. It just made his nose all bright red and angry looking. Wirt tossed the tissue in a plastic bag beside his bed, then reached out to take the sweater. Greg handed it over and his brother tugged it on over his head, despite already wearing long-sleeved pajamas. Once Wirt had it on, he noticed the pile of sweaters and Jason Funderberker at the foot of his bed.

“Um, Greg? Wha’s with all the sweaters?” he asked, waving at them.

“You were cold,” Greg replied, feeling a bit more at ease now that Wirt was moving and talking. “I thought they’d help you feel better. Since you already have all the blankets.”

“Oh.” Wirt covered his mouth and coughed several times, groaning when he finished. “Can you get me a cough drop?” he asked, pointing weakly to the nightstand.

Greg nodded and grabbed him one of the red ones. He even unwrapped it for him, wanting to help his brother as much as he could. The too-sweet smell of the cough drop escaped as soon as Wirt started sucking on it. Greg wrinkled his nose. Medicine was gross, even if it did help make things feel better.

“How are you feeling?” Greg asked as Wirt went to lie back down.

He scrunched up his face, smushing his cheek into his pillow. “Awful,” he wheezed. “Like I’m dying. I can’t breathe and I can’t sleep and I’m hot and cold and my throat feels all gummed up and gross. I hate being sick.”

Greg watched him snuggle up under the blankets, tucking them under his chin. When he didn’t say anything, Wirt opened one eye to look at him. If his face could get any paler, Greg bet it would’ve as his brother opened his other eye.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“You’re not really dying, right?” Greg blurted out, just to make sure.

Wirt sagged against his pillow, then smiled, but it was a very tired smile. “No, I’m not really dying. I’m exaggerating.” When Greg didn’t appear reassured by this, he added, “I’m being a big baby because I don’t feel good.”

“Oh.” Greg fidgeted and picked at a loose thread in one of the blankets. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?”

Wirt shook his head, closing his eyes once again. “Nah, thanks though. The sweaters are good. Oh, and I liked your card.” He pointed in the general direction of the nightstand where his get-well card sat, then tucked his arm back under the blankets. “Just need lots of sleep and stuff. That’s all.”

Greg nodded. “Okay. You sleep then.”

His breathing didn’t quite even out, not with the way his chest rattled with each rise and fall, but it was enough to let Greg know that he’d fallen back asleep. He kept watch, very conscious of his ghostly white complexion and the dark circles, still. It didn’t help that Wirt went very still when he slept. He curled up on his side and stayed there almost the whole night, unless Greg kicked at him to move if they were sharing a bed. Or if he was having a nightmare.

Greg wished he’d move more so the tree roots couldn’t grow from him so easily.

Oh, this was silly. He wasn’t still scared of turning into a tree, right? Or his brother turning into a tree. It had been a long time since then. Christmas and his birthday had already passed and summer vacation would be starting soon. That was plenty of time to stop being scared of something.

Then why did he have a very strong urge to wake Wirt up and check on him again? Just to make sure.

“Greg.”

He jumped and turned around. His dad frowned at him from the doorway, then gestured for him to go over to him. Grabbing Jason Funderberker, and with one last glance at his brother, Greg hurried over to him and let his dad close the door behind him.

“What did we say about leaving your brother alone?” he asked.

“To not do it- oh, wait,” Greg caught himself and corrected his first answer, “to do it. To leave him alone.”

“And what were you doing just now?”

“I wasn’t bothering him though,” he replied. “I just wanted to see if he was doing okay.”

His dad sighed. “I know you’re worried about him, buddy, but he’s fine. He just needs his rest, but he won’t be able to if you wake him up like that, got it?”

“Got it.” Greg nodded, then frowned. “How much longer is he gonna be sick for?”

“Well, we’re pretty sure he’s got the flu, so it’s going to take a few days for him to start feeling better.”

“A few days?”

But it had already been one whole day. He didn’t think he could handle more days like this, especially since tomorrow was the weekend. He wouldn’t even have school to distract him. Why was it going to take him so long to get better when it didn’t take him long at all to get sick?

He’d been fine yesterday morning, Greg reflected. Aside from a headache that he waved off, Wirt had left the car in the morning with a smile and in perfect health. By the time he came to pick Greg up from school, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes a little bleary. He tripped more than usual on the walk home, but it wasn’t until they got home and Wirt flopped on the couch and fell asleep without even taking off his shoes first that Greg started to wonder if something was wrong.

When their mom got home from work and took one look at Wirt before ushering him off to bed, Greg knew something wasn’t right. Being sick was one thing, but looking so pale and shaky? Well, Greg didn’t like that one bit.

Throughout dinner, Greg pushed around his food and gazed sadly at the empty spot at the table across from him.

-0-

Greg sighed heavily for what felt like the millionth time that night. He couldn’t sleep. Greg rolled onto his side. He rolled onto his back and his stomach. He tried to sleep so his head was at the foot of the bed and his feet were at the head of the bed, but that didn’t work either.

Because the problem wasn’t his sleeping position, he reflected. The problem was his eyes. Every time he tried to close his eyes and go to sleep, he saw his brother lying in the snow as he became an Edelwood tree. Pale and shivering. Tired and cold. Greg slipped out of bed and fetched Jason Funderberker from his frog tank so they could cuddle in his bed together. The frog blinked sleepily at him, then dozed off again quickly in his arms.

While usually all for defying bedtime, it wasn’t fun when you were the only one awake. Plus, he was tired. He wanted to sleep. Greg closed his eyes again, but only seconds passed before he was staring at his ceiling instead of his eyelids.

He didn’t sleep all night.

-0-

It was a good thing his dad had music lessons to give on Saturday. It was also good that something came up regarding his mom’s work, so she spent most of the morning in the office working on the computer and on the phone doing business-like things for the diner. Greg didn’t really get how she could work at a diner while working at home, but somehow it worked out. Anyway, neither of them noticed the little cat naps Greg took throughout the day, curled up in the sunniest spots in the house. He didn’t want them to think he was going back to taking naps. He wasn’t a baby, he didn’t need naps.

Well, today he did, but only because he hadn’t slept and it wasn’t like that was his fault.

It also meant Greg was able to check on Wirt more with both of his parents being so busy.

The first time he poked his head in his brother’s room, Wirt was reading – bleary-eyed and stuffed up and just a plain ol’ mess. Greg brought him a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and sat with him until his own tummy grumbled for some breakfast. He checked on Wirt twice more after that, but both times his brother was sound asleep, book propped open on his chest and head lolled to one side. Like a dead person. Greg actually ran over to him to check his breathing, which sounded all wheezy and harsh.

He didn’t look or sound any better at all. If anything, he looked and sounded worse.

He made his mom take Wirt’s temperature three times and each time it was over one hundred degrees. While she wasn’t happy about it, she wasn’t too worried either.

“If it’s still this high on Monday, then I’ll take Wirt to the doctor,” she promised Greg when he expressed his concern. “But I’m sure he’ll be feeling much better by then.”

Part of him trusted his mom because moms were supposed to know stuff like this and she always took great care of him when he was sick. But another part of him kept reminding him that she wasn’t there in the woods. She hadn’t seen Wirt all pale and sleeping and lost to the trees. She hadn’t seen.

“I wish I could trade places with you here, too,” he told Wirt later that night while his brother slept, knocked out by another dose of night time cold medicine.

It was the second night of no sleep for Greg, but instead of tossing and turning in bed all night long, he decided to sit with his brother and watch over him. His room smelled heavily of spoiled mint and cherries from the VapoRub and cough drops to help Wirt breathe. Greg fanned the smell away from him as best as he could, while batting away anything that he thought might be a sneaky tree root, sneaking in to take Wirt away.

His brother slept through it all. Pale and shivering.

-0-

On Sunday, when Greg left his room after a morning nap, he found Wirt bundled up on the couch. His brother still sniffled and his voice sounded terrible, but he wasn’t as pale and he didn’t feel as warm to touch. He still napped a lot, but he was able to watch TV with him and Jason Funderberker and they ate breakfast and lunch together on the couch.

Wirt was even feeling well enough for Sara to come by that afternoon with notes from the classes he missed on Friday, just in case he’d be going to school on Monday. “You look a lot better,” she told him.

“I’m feeling a lot better, honestly,” Wirt replied with a shy shrug.

“That’s great.” Sara smiled, and placed her hand on his knee. “But don’t push yourself.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve been doing nothing but sleep for the past two days. I’m pretty sure pushing myself isn’t going to be an issue.”

Greg couldn’t help but smile from where he watched them. Wirt did look much better. They were in the clear then. Sure, his mom still wanted him to stay home an extra day just to be safe, but Wirt worked hard, so he deserved the extra time off.

“What about you, Greg? How’ve you been feeling?” Sara asked him.

“Never been better!” he chirped, jumping to his feet. “I could climb Mount Everest today if I wanted to!”

She laughed. “Oh really?” But then she looked a little more closely at him and her good humor faded a little. “Are you sure? You actually don’t look so good.”

Greg blinked, a little slower than usual just because his eyelids felt really heavy, then felt his own cheeks. Sara’s observation caught Wirt’s attention, and his brother sat up with a concerned frown. He coughed, then waved Greg over so he could get a better look at him, but Greg shook his head.

“Oh, I just didn’t sleep well last night,” he told Sara, because other than tired he really did feel fine. “Or the night before.”

“What? Why not?” Wirt pressed.

“Are you having bad dreams?” Sara inquired.

“I don’t really have bad dreams,” Greg lied at the same time Wirt said, “He doesn’t really have bad dreams.”

Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He hadn’t had a bad dream for a really long time. Not since they first got back from their adventure. He’d had a couple about turning into a tree. Or Wirt turning into a tree. Or both of them turning into trees. But they’d never really bother him from what he could remember. Though he couldn’t remember them very well. They’d never been enough to keep him from sleeping, though.

Sara blinked in awe. “You don’t have bad dreams, at all? That’s crazy. I thought everyone did. I mean, at some point.”

Greg shrugged, while Wirt continued to ask, “So why haven’t you been sleeping well?”

He glanced at Sara. If it was just him and Wirt, then he’d be able to tell him no problem, but he knew Wirt didn’t like to talk about things that happened in The Unknown when other people were around. Unless it was part of a game, or something. Besides… he and Wirt had already talked about how they couldn’t become trees. It was silly for him to worry so much about it. So Greg simply shrugged again and turned his attention back to the TV. He hid a yawn with his hand, while Sara and Wirt started talking about something else, then noticed Jason Funderberker giving him a funny look.

Oh, he was fine, he thought to himself as he gave the frog a pat on the head. Besides, Wirt was feeling and looking better today. Surely he’d be able to sleep no problem tonight.

-0-

_“I’m sorry, Gregory.”_

The roots twisted and clawed. They grew and grew, twining and snaking all around. Leaves. There were so many leaves.

_“Wirt’s fate lies solely in The Beast’s hands now.”_

Anything was possible if you set your mind to it. Anything was possible if you set your mind to it. They were going home. He found a way home. They were going home together.

_“Wirt cannot go home with you.”_

“Then I won’t go home either!” Greg tugged at the tree roots, determined to free his brother – just like he’d freed him. “Wirt, come on! You can do it! You can come home, I know you can!”

“Leave me alone, Greg.” Wirt rolled over, facing away from him, as more and more roots choked him, pulled him into the ground. “I’m sleeping.”

“No, you can’t! You can sleep later, Wirt!” Greg kept pulling and pulling, but there were too many roots and Wirt kept pushing him away.

His fingers were too cold to grip the roots. It was snowing very hard now and Wirt was so pale, like the snow. Pale and shivering even as the leaves of the Edelwood tree blanketed him.

“I want to sleep now. I’m tired, Greg. Tired of you. Tired of everything.”

“Stop it, Wirt,” Greg told him. “Stop it!”

But his brother was asleep. His skin turned to wood and his roots sank into the snowy ground. His eyes stayed closed, but they got darker and darker until they were nothing more than gaping holes dripping with black. Greg backed away with a horrified yelp, but it was swallowed by the snow and the haunting song of a deep, dark voice in the deep, dark woods. The Beast. He was coming.

“Wake up,” Greg pleaded, throwing his arms around Wirt before he could completely turn into a tree trunk. “Wake up, _wake up_ , Wirt! Wake up!”

The Beast’s song got louder and louder. His brother’s branches curled around him, snaking around his neck and his waist, ready to drag into the ground, too. But Greg couldn’t let go of Wirt to pull them off. If he let go, he’d lose him forever. It hurt. The branches squeezed and he choked. He couldn’t breathe. The roots ripped him away from Wirt, down, down, down into the ground.

“Wirt!”

The darkness swallowed him whole.

Greg’s eyes opened wide, his throat tight around the scream that was lodged in it. Only a hoarse, croaky sound escaped as remained still, unmoving. He couldn’t move. His heart felt too big for his chest, heavy as it thumped and thumped and thumped. He gasped for breath suddenly, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t been breathing at all. His limbs were frozen in his bed, under the blankets where it was safe, except it wasn’t safe and he needed to get to Wirt. The Beast was coming and he needed to save him, but he couldn’t _move_.

“Wirt,” he tried to shout, but it was barely a whisper in the too-quiet of his room. “Wirt!”

He wanted to go to his big brother, crawl into his bed and burrow against his side because he needed to make sure Wirt was okay. The tree roots. He couldn’t let the tree roots get him. He didn’t want a tree for a brother, he wanted Wirt. He wanted Wirt, but every instinct Greg had screamed at him not to move.

His breathing picked up, chest hitching as he gulped air faster and faster. He wanted Wirt, he needed him, where was he? Greg’s lower lip trembled and tears burned his cheeks as he gasped and choked on his own words.

“Wirt!” he croaked, voice breaking as he tried to be louder, but he was so scared. So scared and the tree roots knew. They could hear him. They were waiting for him, watching him from the walls, from the floor-

His throat hurt when he cried out, his own voice rubbing it raw with his panic. Where was Wirt? Did The Beast already get him? Where was he?

“Wirt! _Wirt_!”

A loud thump answered him and he screamed as light from the hallway sliced through the darkness of his bedroom, cutting into every crevice when the door swung wide open. He expected The Beast. He expected glowing eyes and wide antlers and twisting, twining tree branches to burst into his bedroom.

But it was Wirt.

It was Wirt in the doorway.

Greg sobbed as his brother’s familiar silhouette gripped the doorframe for support. He could see his wide eyes and hear his labored breaths because he was sick – right, they were home and he was sick, that was all – and Greg was just so happy that he was there and not a tree. Wirt’s arms trembled as he braced himself on the door, then in several quick strides he was bent over his bedside, his features clearer now that he was closer.

“Greg,” he breathed, searching his face as his hands immediately grabbed at him. “Greg, what’s wrong? What happened?”

He tried to tell him, but he could only gasp out his name as he cried. It was the kind of crying that hurt, too. It hurt his chest and his throat and his eyes. Shaking, he drew his arms out from under the covers and reached for Wirt. His brother was quick to catch on. He perched on the edge of Greg’s bed and wrapped his arms around him – arms, not tree branches – and he was soft and warm from being in his own bed and he still smelled strongly of VapoRub and cough drops instead of leaves and dirt. It only made Greg sob harder with relief as he buried his face against the worn, flannel pajamas.

Wirt hugged him tightly, as if that would piece together all the broken bits of him. One hand smoothed down his hair while the other rubbed his back. “Greg, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asked again, sounding close to tears himself.

“Wirt?” Greg heard their mom from the doorway and he tightened his grip, clinging to his brother so he couldn’t leave. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” Wirt croaked, throat still sore. “But I’ve got him. It’s fine, you guys go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?” His dad was there, too.

“I think so,” Wirt replied, still rubbing his back as Greg struggled to breathe like a normal person. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

He didn’t hear them leave, but when they didn’t say anything else and Wirt started to rock him gently, he figured they must’ve gone back to their room. Greg hiccupped loudly, fingers clenched tight in Wirt’s sleep shirt. He couldn’t let go of him. He couldn’t let him turn into a tree.

“Wirt,” he whimpered, more tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I’m here,” he answered. “I’m right here.”

Greg nodded and the two of them huddled together while he finished crying. When the tremors stopped and his heart wasn’t beating quite so fast, Wirt shifted a bit and Greg instinctively wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed him. It made his brother cough, but it also made him stop moving.

“Hey,” he wheezed once he got his breath back. “I’m just gonna lie you back down, okay?”

Greg shook his head. “No.”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s just to make us more comfortable,” he assured him. “But I’ve got to let go of you for a second-”

“ _No_.”

“Greg, I promise it’ll only be for a second. Here.”

He felt himself get lifted up and the bed bounced as Wirt slid on beside him. It was a tight fit, even more precarious than when Greg snuck into Wirt’s bed because his brother’s was pressed against the wall on one side, while Greg’s was completely open on either side. But Wirt let him huddle close, let him pillow his head on his chest so he could hear his heart beating and his wheezy, sick-person breaths rattling in his lungs. It was better than the cold nothing he’d felt when he’d hugged his tree brother. Greg sniffled and cried a little again, but Wirt made sure both of his arms were around him once he tugged the blankets up and over them.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Wirt soothed him, his words muffled by Greg’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”

Greg tensed, eyes widening as he shook his head as best as he could without hurting his brother. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Just close your eyes-”

“I _can’t_!”

Wirt went completely still. Even his breathing was soft and steady for a brief moment. Then he felt him shift, moving them both until Wirt forced him to look at him. In the little light from the hallway, Greg could see the intense, scrutinizing glimmer in his eyes.

“Does this have anything to do with why you haven’t been sleeping well?” he demanded to know. “ _Have_ you been having nightmares?”

“No.” Greg tried to duck his head, hide against his brother’s sleep shirt even though it smelled like VapoRub and made his nose tingle, but Wirt wouldn’t let him. “I said no!”

“Greg, you were screaming like someone was murdering you in the middle of the night. I doubt you were doing that for kicks.” Wirt narrowed his gaze, but it faltered a bit when Greg just teared up again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” This time Greg was able to shove his face into Wirt’s shoulder.

His brother sighed heavily and groaned, “Can you say anything else?”

“Yes,” he replied just to spite him.

He didn’t know why he was being difficult. Being difficult would just push his brother away, make him leave, and he couldn’t make sure he was okay if he left. Sniffling, he rubbed his cheek against his shoulder in quiet apology, then looked up, eyes widening. Wirt had closed his eyes, his breath evening out, slowing, _stopping_.

“ _Don’t_!”

His brother’s eyes snapped open. “What? What is it?” he wheezed.

“Don’t close your eyes!” Greg told him.

“What? I can’t close my eyes now either?” Wirt frowned. “Greg, I’m tired.”

“Don’t go to sleep. Please don’t go to sleep yet. Please.” He pushed on his chest, ready and willing to shake his brother awake again and again if he had to. “ _Please_.”

The irritation on his face faded, confusion replacing it before something Greg couldn’t quite read in the dark settled there. “Okay. I won’t. I won’t go to sleep.”

“Or close your eyes,” Greg added.

“Or close my eyes,” Wirt agreed.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Greg fidgeted, then settled his head back on Wirt’s shoulder. “And you’ll stay with me? All night?”

Wirt sighed again, but it was sadder this time. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Satisfied, Greg willed his shaking to subside. Wirt was here and he was okay. He wasn’t going anywhere and he wasn’t going to be a tree. The Beast hadn’t claimed him. They’d rescued each other. They were both home and a-okay. Wirt’s hand pressed firmly against his back as he returned to rubbing it in slow circles. Greg exhaled slowly, the steady motion coaxing his limbs to uncurl from the tense ball of shivering nerves he’d become. Wirt hesitated when he moved, then continued.

“Is this- is this helping at all?”

“Mmhm.” Greg nodded, tilting his head so he could look at him again.

Wirt offered him a small smile, in the hopes that he’d get one in return, but Greg couldn’t give it to him quite yet. “Sorry. I’m not really used to this kind of thing. I mean, you don’t really have bad dreams. Not… not like this.” His brow furrowed in that over thinking way of his, broken only when he coughed a couple of times, muffling it in the crook of his elbow. “Are you sure you didn’t have a nightmare last night? Or the night before that? I mean, I didn’t hear you or anything, but…”

Greg shook his head. “I’m sure,” he told him quietly. “I didn’t dream at all ‘cause I didn’t sleep.”

“You didn’t sleep?” Wirt blinked at him while he nodded. “At all?” When Greg nodded again, his stare turned incredulous. “For two nights?”

“I couldn’t,” he admitted reluctantly.

“ _Greg_.” Wirt let his head flop against Greg’s pillow as he stared at the ceiling. “No wonder you had a nightmare. Your body’s crazy tired and the mind can make up some pretty weird stuff when it’s exhausted. You can’t do things like not sleep.”

“But I _couldn’t_ ,” he protested.

“Why not?” Wirt asked.

“I kept seeing it. Every time I closed my eyes.” Greg clenched his fist in Wirt’s pajamas.

“Kept seeing what?”

Greg pouted, cheeks puffed out as he stared at a button on Wirt’s sleep shirt instead of looking him in the face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough luck. You always make me talk about my nightmares. It’s time I returned the favor,” Wirt sniffed, still all congested, then softened his tone a bit. “Besides… even if I don’t like to admit it… it does make me feel better. And, I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?”

“It’s different when it’s you,” Greg told him, hugging him tighter. “You’re the scared one. I’m not. I can’t be. I have… I have to be the leader…”

Wirt rolled onto his side, forcing Greg to roll onto his as well to face him. “It’s okay to be scared sometimes, Greg.”

Greg wilted under his brother’s stern gaze. “But I can’t save you if I’m scared.”

“What?” Wirt blinked, tugging the blanket up more to cover Greg’s shoulder. “Greg, you don’t have to save me. I’m fine. Still sick, but other than that-”

Wirt stopped talking when Greg shook his head. “But I _did_. The Beast claimed you. You couldn’t go home. If I wasn’t brave- if I was too scared- how could I have saved you? I was the leader, it was my job-” Fresh tears welled up and he looked away from Wirt, trying valiantly to will them away. He’d had enough of crying. “It was my job. I was the leader.”

“What…?” He heard Wirt’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a harsh cough before he draped his arm around him, the weight of it reassuring. “Greg… you don’t… what do you mean when you say The Beast claimed me? You’ve said that before. What do you mean?”

“It’s what the Cloud City Queen said,” he choked out. “When you were turning into a tree. You were gonna turn into a tree, Wirt! And it was all my fault because I didn’t get us home like you told me to!”

“Oh my gosh… Greg, no. No, I told you it was my fault. Remember? Hey. Come on, look at me, Greg. Please don’t cry.” Wirt’s face blurred in front of him when he blinked, but he could still make out the utter devastation shining in his eyes. “I… If I turned into a tree, then it would’ve been my own fault. Not yours, okay? Okay, Greg?” When Greg only sobbed again, Wirt pulled him close, tucking his head under his chin as he hugged him tight. “An Edelwood tree… of course. I didn’t even _think_. You were gone and I wasn’t paying attention. I… I didn’t really pay attention to anything. I still don’t. Greg, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen, did I? Jeez. I suck at this. You really drew the worst possible straw when it came to who you got for a brother. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine what it looked like as he trembled around him.

“I’m not,” Greg mumbled, tears drying as his brother’s self-loathing seeped into him. He tugged on his sleeve. “I’m not sorry you’re my brother.”

When their gazes met, he managed a small smile, pleased when it forced one from Wirt in turn. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Greg snuggled closer. “I’d be sad if you weren’t here. That’s- that was the scariest part. In my dream. It was like you weren’t with me anymore. You were just a tree.”

“Well, I’m here now. I won’t turn into a tree. Just like you won’t turn into a tree. Remember?” Wirt nudged their foreheads together and Greg smiled a bit wider.

“I remember,” he told him. “I usually do, it’s just… you’ve been sick and you looked…” Greg poked the bags under Wirt’s eyes. “You looked like you did when you were sleeping and the roots grew all over you.”

He sighed deeply. “I thought you looked a bit out of it.”

“You looked more out of it,” Greg retorted.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked and Greg shrugged. “Listen… you gotta let me know if something’s bothering you, okay? Especially something like this. I had no idea… I had no idea that I… did I really almost turn into an Edelwood tree?”

He nodded. “You had the roots all around you… and the leaves. And you didn’t want to wake up, but you talked to me, so I thought you were gonna be okay. And I asked you to watch Jason Funderberker, before he had the perfect frog name.” Both boys looked over to the terrarium where their frog slept quietly. “I wasn’t scared,” Greg continued. “Because my wish worked and I was gonna save you, but sometimes… sometimes when I think about it now, it’s a lot scarier.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… it sounds pretty scary. I don’t blame you for being afraid when you think about it. And it’s not the end of the world to admit that you’re scared of something,” Wirt told him.

“But in the dream I felt scared and everything went wrong,” Greg piped up. “You turned into a tree. I can’t save you if I’m scared, so I have to be brave all the time.”

Wirt’s brow creased as he thought about that. “You know, it doesn’t make you any less brave to admit you’re scared sometimes.”

Greg sniffled. “Really?”

“Yeah. Even really brave people get scared sometimes, and that’s okay.”

He hummed softly as he considered that. “Like how you’re still mostly scared even though you’re brave sometimes?”

His brother made a face at that, but didn’t correct him. “If that’s what helps you process this,” he answered dryly before sighing. “Then sure. Yeah, just like that. I… I can be brave sometimes. So, you can be scared sometimes. And when you are, all you have to do is tell me and I’ll get real brave for you.”

“You will?” Greg’s brow furrowed.

Wirt nodded. “I will. I’m always going to be here when you need me. And I won’t ever let myself turn into a tree again. I promise.”

“Is it a rock fact?”

“Depends.” Wirt arched an eyebrow. “If it’s one of the true ones, then absolutely.”

Greg smiled a little, then a little more when Wirt poked him in the stomach. They grinned at each other before Wirt’s cracked on a yawn. When he blinked sleepily, Greg’s smile faded and the hole in his stomach opened up again.

“Is it still okay to be scared?” he asked.

Wirt ran his fingers through his hair, then reached out and ruffled Greg’s. “Yeah, but you really should get some sleep. Especially since I’ve been breathing my sick air all over you. You need to sleep to make sure you don’t get what I’ve got.”

“I don’t think I can though,” he mumbled.

“You can do anything if you set your mind to it,” Wirt told him, yawning again, then he winced and coughed, hand going to his throat. “ _Ugh_. Hate being sick.”

Greg felt bad for keeping him up, he really did, but every time it looked like his brother was going to close his eyes, he just had to poke him. Wirt sat through it patiently, his weary eyes searching Greg’s face for something. Probably to see if he was tired at all, too. He was. Oh, his eyelids were really heavy and all he really wanted to do was go to sleep, but his eyes wouldn’t close, fixated on watching Wirt right back.

Finally, his brother let out a long breath. “What would help you fall asleep? Hm? What would make you feel better?”

“Mm-mm-mm.” Greg shrugged.

Wirt glanced to the ceiling for a minute. His eyes widened a bit, the wheels of his brain turning as an idea struck him. Greg waited, curious, then gasped when Wirt forced him to close his eyes.

“No, Wirt-”

“Sleep, sleep all the sleepy town…” His brother’s sore, croaky voice crooned quietly, effectively silencing Greg’s protests out of sheer shock. “Um… you are the only one… Now only night lights flickering, now all is said and done…”

“What are you doing?” Greg whispered.

“What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m singing,” Wirt grumbled.

Greg pushed his hand away and opened his eyes to stare at him. “Okay, I know you’re singing. _Why_ are you singing?”

“I don’t know. It worked when you were a baby.” Wirt wouldn’t look him in the eye, his mouth and eyebrows pinched in huffy embarrassment. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll stop.”

He blinked. “You sang to me when I was a baby?”

“Only, like… once or twice, it was no big deal.” Wirt shook his head. “Just forget about it. It was a stupid idea.”

He still wouldn’t look at him, but at least he didn’t close his eyes. He sniffled and curled up as best as he could while sharing Greg’s bed with him. Greg could tell his brother was thinking really hard about something, probably thinking up a different plan to get him to fall asleep. Greg poked him between the eyes and received a glare for his efforts.

“What?”

“What was the song you were singing?” he asked.

Wirt’s scowl faded a little. “Uh… “Sleepy Town” by the Swerve Pipe. It’s just one of the songs I have on tape. I thought it would… I- I don’t know, make a good lullaby or something.”

“Oh.” Greg tucked an arm under his head, one hand still holding onto Wirt. “How does the rest of it go?”

Wirt’s embarrassment flared up again. “There isn’t much left to it, you’re not missing out on anything. That was… that was pretty much it.”

“I still want to hear how it ends,” he told him.

Hesitating, he stared hard at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling as he sighed. “Sleep, sleep all the sleepy town, you are the only one. All the moments from the rising to the setting of the sun,” he recited. “That’s it. That’s the end.”

“ _Wirt_ ,” Greg groaned, flashing him his most unimpressed look.

“What?” he snapped, a little too defensively.

“I want you to sing me the song.” Really, he didn’t think he had to spell it out for him, his brother was smarter than that. “Please.”

Wirt wilted, though his arm tightened around him. “Fine.” He relented. “But you have to close your eyes. I can’t… I can’t sing if you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… with your eyes all big and sad. Just close them.”

It was Greg’s turn to hesitate. He tried, he really did. He closed one eye first and then the other, but as soon as everything was dark, all he could see was an Edelwood tree. With a whimper, both eyes flew open and his gaze was filled with Wirt’s apologetic one.

“I really scared you, didn’t I?” he murmured.

Greg didn’t say anything. He didn’t really know what he could say. He couldn’t deny it, but admitting to it wouldn’t help either of them now, would it?

“Here.” Wirt drew him in close so Greg’s cheek was pressed over his heart again, neither of them able to see the other’s face now.

Then Wirt started to sing.

Greg relaxed against him. It was nice. He didn’t even notice his eyes closed as his brother went through it a second time. By the third time, well, he didn’t even hear the third time because by the third time Greg was sound asleep.

-0-

Neither Wirt nor Greg went to school on Monday, both confined to their beds with slight fevers and sore throats and enough chicken noodle soup to fill a swimming pool.

“Look on the bright side, Wirt. At least we’re sick together!” Greg cheered, perked up after a night of solid sleep, even if he did have a fever and sniffles and a croaky frog voice. “Together forever and never to part! Together forever, we two. Come on, Wirt, sing with me!”

Wirt just groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. “I hate being sick.”

-0-

_And don’t you know I would move heaven and earth to be together forever with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Rick Astley. And my brother who wouldn't stop singing this song the entire time he was home. For an entire month it was Together Forever all the time. It was terrible.


	9. Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: "Umm. Hello. I really admire your writing style, so. Uh. I have a prompt request, if that's alright. I just had a mild panic attack, managed to calm down before it got bad. Kind of had me thinking, though. About one of the brothers having one? Sorry. Anyway I know you have the ski trip, but I was kind of curious about one seemingly out of nowhere. That had a clear trigger but what about one that just hit? Sorry to bother you. Thanks for your time, I look forward to future fics." 
> 
> One panic attack, coming right up. I’m glad to hear that you were able to calm down from yours! And it’s no bother. This actually inspired me pretty much instantly. Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> (Oh my gosh, I didn't realize I never put this one on AO3)

There’d been a knot in his stomach all morning.

It had been easy enough to ignore at first, just the usual anxious twisting in his belly. There wasn’t a reason for it, and there didn’t have to be a reason for it. Wirt could endure it and it would pass soon enough. He probably wouldn’t even notice when it left. He usually didn’t. At some point in the day he’d realize that he felt lighter and his stomach would relax and his breaths would come easier.

As he sat in his third period class, only half-listening as his teacher went on and on about the shoe motifs peppered in “The House on Mango Street” and why they enhanced the text, he noticed the weight in his gut only got heavier. He’d been reflecting on the fact that they’d have to write a five page paper on shoes, no doubt, and Wirt mildly wondered what people would’ve thought about his mismatched shoes on Halloween night as he traveled through The Unknown and if that has some sort of deeper meaning that enhanced his experience. Honestly, it only highlighted how lost in thought he could become that he didn’t even notice the shoes he was putting on his feet. Maybe that was the comparison. Lost in thought, lost in a forest…

His breath hitched suddenly. Wirt blinked, one hand moving to rest over his stomach as it churned with dread. Swallowing, he rubbed it to see if that would ease the tension creeping up his spine. Oh no. He shivered, glancing around nervously. No one was looking at him yet, that was good, but it was a small comfort as he recognized how shallow his breathing had become and the way his heart stuttered in his chest.

Wirt pursed his lips together, pretending to hum. Humming helped, the vibration between his lips and maintaining a long, low note usually calmed him down enough to at least push the panic attack back a few hours, if not the rest of the day. But he couldn’t hum in class. That would get people staring at him for sure, not to mention it was disruptive and rude and Mrs. Torino would get mad at him and-

The faster his thoughts raced, the harder his heart pounded. Each thud heavier than the last. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._ Wirt stopped rubbing his stomach and clutched at his chest. What if he had a heart attack? Could panic attacks induce premature heart attacks? He couldn’t remember. He knew he’d looked it up before, but right now he couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember and he could be dying from a panic induced heart attack in the middle of his English classroom talking about shoes in “The House on Mango Street.”

Before it got any worse, because it could always get worse, Wirt tried counting to ten mentally. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two, three-_ He was going too fast, it wasn’t helping. _Calm down. Calm down, I’m not in danger. I’m scared, but nothing bad is happening right now and nothing bad will happen if I just calm down._ Telling himself that never really worked, not unless something actually triggered it. Did something trigger it? Did he now have some kind of fear of shoes?

He choked on a slightly hysterical laugh, keeping his lips shut tight as his body shook with it. That was just what he needed, something else to be afraid of. And shoes, no less. Had he even put on the same pair of shoes today? He didn’t know. His fingers, still clenched in his sweater, began to tremble and cramp, but he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t move. If he moved, people would see him and stare and point and laugh.

But he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t feel the chair beneath him or the desk pressing down over his knees. It was there, but he wasn’t. His ears were ringing and his heart was getting louder. Like the tell-tale heart. Pounding and beating on the floorboards to be heard, for attention, look at me everyone! Look at Wirt as he descends into madness for no apparent reason!

“Wirt? Wirt!”

He inhaled sharply, his chest tight and stomach full of air as he stared wide-eyed at Mrs. Torino. Everyone was looking at him now. All the heads in class turned towards him. All their eyes and faces blank and watching. Always watching. Always watching you.

“I-I-” he stammered, throat tightening around an explanation.

“Wirt, do you need to go to the nurse?” Mrs. Torino asked, keeping her voice low for him.

“I- I don’t-” Wirt shook his head a little. “I’m- bathroom. I need- I need the bathroom?”

“He looks like he’s gonna puke,” someone murmured across the room and Wirt’s stomach rolled at the thought.

Mrs. Torino nodded. “Alright. I’ll write you a pass. But if that doesn’t help, then I really think you should go to nurse.”

She went to her desk and pulled out a pink slip and scribbled the information on it while Wirt struggled to stand. Change of scenery. Change of scenery was good, it would help. His knees wobbled and the room spun on a dangerous tilt as he stood, taking the signed slip of paper when his teacher handed it to him.

He didn’t remember leaving the classroom. All he remembered was stumbling down the hall until he reached the boys’ restroom and pushed his way inside. There was no one inside and he let himself gasp harsh and loud as he braced his hands on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He was pale and lines creased his eyes and mouth, dark and deep. Shaking, he tried to breathe while watching himself. He kept forgetting to exhale though, and started raking his fingers through his hair frantically.

Why wasn’t he calming down? Why couldn’t he calm down? Nothing had even happened!

Wirt tugged hard on his hair, his gasps turning into soft cries as he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. Cold like the lake on Halloween. Drowning, drowning twice, in ice and not and he couldn’t breathe then and he couldn’t breathe now. Wirt backed away quickly, leaving the water running as he bumped into the paper towel dispenser. He immediately pressed the plunger down, again and again and again until he had a nice, long strip of paper to rub his wet face on. It was harsh on his skin, the brown paper cheap and he sobbed as it did little to dry or warm him. He crumpled it up and tossed in on the floor, then followed suit, sinking to curl up in a small ball, pressed against the bathroom wall.

He tried to listen to the water rushing from the sink. Rushing water was grounding, it was supposed to keep him from getting lost in himself, but it was too late. It wasn’t helping. This was never going to end. Never never never never-

“Wirt?”

The bathroom door opened and closed, then a warm body sat next to his on the floor. Wirt shuddered, but he turned his head to see who was there. Sara was biting her lip, hands up as if she wanted to put her arms around him. Her eyes searched his, her concern vibrant.

“Wirt, what can I do?” she asked.

Words escaped him, lost to the swirling void of his thoughts and his body as it revolted against him. Fight or flight from himself. Wirt shook his head. Over and over and over because it was the only thing he could control. He had no control, none.

“Can I sit here with you? Is that okay?” Sara continued to press, taking one of his cold, clammy hands in her own.

That stopped him from shaking his head. He stared at her, uncomprehendingly, then opened his mouth. “W-what about class-?”

It was her turn to shake her head. “I can get the notes later. You’re more important.”

“No. No, I’m not- Sara-”

“Wirt. It’s okay. I want to sit here with you.” She gave his hand a squeeze, then rubbed it between both of hers as if all he needed was help with circulation.

He let her, because the feeling was distracting. The pushing and kneading against his palm and between his fingers was something he could focus on, something different. His breathing was still harsh and his heart was still racing and his stomach was still leaden with dread, but his hands stopped shaking at least. That was something.

“What else helps you calm down?” she asked him quietly. “I want to help you.”

“This is- this is fine,” he managed. “This is helping.”

“Yeah?” When she looked at him it was hopeful.

He nodded again. “Yeah. I just need a minute. That’s- just a minute.”

“You can take all the time you need.” She shifted closer, their shoulders pressing together and let Wirt slump against her when his contracted muscles finally relaxed. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay.” He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as the running water and Sara’s warm presence grounded him in the moment. _One, two, three…_ “Okay.”

Eventually he could stand again and he let Sara escort him to the nurse’s office to call his mom. Third period had ended and first lunch had begun. Sara kept her hand in his as she led the way, his head bowed even as they avoided the most crowded places during the lunch period. He watched his shoes as they walked, still counting in his head, and pressed his lips together as he noticed that one shoe actually was different from the other. Still slightly hysterical, he had to mentally laugh at himself for that. Mismatched shoes, the motif of his life.

The knot in his stomach lessened.


	10. Something old, Something new... Something Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Anonymous: Prompt idea, maybe: Greg giving the best man speech at Wirt's wedding. (I know that it's not super likely, but I would so love it if it was Wirt's marriage to Sara after they reconnect after college? But if you want to make an OC that would be lovely too!)
> 
> This has been sitting in my documents for months. It took me far too long to figure out how to wrap up this little one-shot, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. This is a future story in the future! Takes place in the Two Roads 'verse, many years after the events of Two Roads. Hope you guys enjoy this and that it's what you were looking for, anonymous!

Gripping a very wrinkled sheet of binder paper in shaky, clammy hands, Greg paced the public restroom as if he got a dollar for every time he took a step. A pencil clenched between his teeth, his eyes roved over the chicken scratch blurring before him. What did that word say? Had he written ‘brother’ or ‘balsamic’ or something else entirely? Wirt was right, he needed to work on his handwriting. Thirty-three wasn’t too old to refurbish one’s penmanship, right?

Greg growled and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the strands so they stuck out every which way. When he realized what exactly he’d done, he groaned, pencil dropping to the floor as his arm flopped to his side. Great, now he needed to find a comb, too. Or maybe it wasn’t that bad.

He looked to the mirror, but caught the eyes of the six-year-old perched on top of the bathroom counter instead. She was innocently swinging her stocking-covered legs and glossy, white Mary Jane shoes as she stared at him, clutching a basket of flowers in her lap. Her long, dark brown hair fell straight down her back and over her shoulders, tamed only by a single maroon flower pin to match the maroon ribbon tied around the middle of her white, tulle-skirted dress. Her pointed bangs showed signs of attempts to be pulled back into the pin, but they’d somehow reverted to their usual state of falling right between her eyes down the middle of her forehead. Her hazel eyes, more of a green today, blinked owlishly at him and he blinked right back.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asked her, pointing to the counter.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”

Greg hummed, realizing this was very true. He scratched at his head again, only belatedly realizing a second time what he was doing to his hair. With another frustrated sound, he checked the mirror. He looked like Wirt after he put a hat on for five seconds. Greg winced, bracing himself on the bathroom counter, only to feel something damp seeping through the paper still under his palm.

“Oh no!” He held up the lined paper, now transparent as the pencil marks bled away thanks to water droplets from the sink. “Great, this is exactly what I need!” He balled it up and threw it in the garbage under the paper towels, then ran to his bag to tear out a new sheet of paper from his notebook and grabbed a new pencil. “How did it start again?”

He pushed the heel of his palm into his forehead, resuming his pacing once more to try and restart his stupid brain. Of course today of all days he’d experience the worst writer’s block on the planet. Him, Gregory Whelan, who could write a silly little jingle given one note and one word in fifteen seconds, couldn’t write a page worth of sensible monologue for the life of him. Typical.

“Hey, Dad, we need to-” The bathroom door swung open, revealing a fifteen-year-old girl – did the girls honestly not understand the concept of the men’s room? He thought he’d raised them better. Brown eyes blinked, then the teenager stared at him with a single quirked brow. “Why are you pacing like Wren on Show and Tell day? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed an irrational fear of bearing your soul to the world, too.”

“Hey!” The little girl on the counter pouted and crossed her arms, highly offended. “Show and Tell is scary!”

“Yeah, you’re the only kid in the whole world that thinks so,” her sister replied, running her fingers through her short crop of light brown hair, careful of the flower pin identical to Wren’s.

Eager to nip whatever disagreement this would spawn in the bud, because he didn’t need that today either, Greg faced his older daughter head-on. “I’m not pacing like Wren,” he defended.

“Yeah, you are,” both girls chorused together, then shared matching grins.

Greg glowered. Of course, whenever his girls _did_ get along it was at his expense. “No, I’m not. I’m thinking. This is my thinking… walk. It’s for thinking things.”

“Oh? What are you thinking about so- is that your best man speech?” His oldest’s eyes went wide, and she looked more excited than any sixteen-year-old girl should look. Delighted even. “Oh my god, you haven’t finished it yet? Dad!”

“Shh!” He held his finger to his lips and felt his cheeks heat up. “Bea, shh! Keep it down!”

“I can’t believe you! Way to wait until the last minute!” Beatrice snorted, not even trying to muffle her laughter. “You’ve only had- what? A year to get this done?”

“I-!” Greg crumpled the paper between his hands, twisting it into a tube. “It’s- it’s not as easy as it sounds!”

“Are you serious? You’re the one who’s constantly spouting how much you love Uncle Wirt. How is this any different from that?” Beatrice pointed to the blank sheet of paper.

“It just is,” he replied, trying very hard not to pout in front of his children. “Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come in here to criticize my speech writing process, so what is it you need?”

“Oh. Just came to tell you that you missed the ceremony.”

Greg almost looked at his watch – almost, and prided himself very much on not actually checking the time – then narrowed his gaze as his daughter beamed with self-satisfaction. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“It was lovely. I mean, it was weird that the best man didn’t show up, but it’s not like he’s that important.” Beatrice shrugged, continuing her little fantasy. “Seriously though? Everyone’s starting to wonder where you are. Nova thinks you’re the one with cold feet and asked me to make sure you weren’t in here crying.”

“I don’t cry.” Greg rolled his eyes. Really, his wife tended to exaggerate even more than Beatrice did with all her teen angst and attitude. “So you can go tell her everything’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You sure?” Beatrice folded her arms across her chest and tilted his head. “Need any help figuring out what to say?”

“No, I’ve got this.” Greg smoothed the paper against the wall and started scribbling what he remembered of his speech. “I’m his brother, I know how to write a speech for him. Heck, I’ve written songs for him, I can do this. I can write him the perfect speech for my toast. It’s easy, see? Look at all this perfect, speech writing I’m doing. I got this.”

“Um, Dad? No one’s saying you don’t got this,” Beatrice pointed out. “I’m just saying that you procrastinated the hell out of this.”

“Watch your language around your sister,” Greg told her automatically.

He could feel her roll her eyes at him without even having to look. “Fine. You procrastinated the heck out of this. That better?”

“Much.”

“I think Uncle Wirt’s gonna like your speech no matter what, Daddy,” Wren piped up, playing with the flower petals in her basket. “He likes everything you write.”

While Beatrice rolled her eyes once again, Greg couldn’t help but smile at his little girl. She smiled back, then blew a petal from her palm at him. He caught it and tucked it into the pocket of his tux.

“For luck?” he asked.

“For luck!” she agreed.

“Seriously? You’re acting like you’re the one getting married. Again.” Beatrice shook her head, then lifted Wren off the bathroom counter and set her on the floor. “Though, you are gonna need a lot of luck if you want to finish writing that speech before the ceremony.”

“Then I’d appreciate it if you’d let me finish it in peace. And tell Nova that I’ll be out in a second. And that I’m not crying.”

Beatrice shrugged. “Okay, but we’re probably heading to the venue in a few minutes, just so you know. So once we’re gone, no one is going to know you’re here hiding in the bathroom of the hotel lobby.” She took her sister’s hand and looked down at her. “Unless you stay behind. What do you say, short stack? You want to ride with the bride and all us cool kids? Or do you want to be lame and go with Dad and Uncle Wirt?”

“I’ll stay with Daddy.” Wren narrowed her eyes. “And don’t call me ‘short stack.’ I’m not pancakes, Beatrice.”

She snorted. “Your face looks like pancakes.” She flicked her in the forehead, then sauntered out of the room before Wren could hit her with the basket of flowers.

“Hey, hey, careful with those,” Greg admonished, catching a few of the petals that fell out, then tucked them back inside. “They’re a very important part of the wedding, bumblebee.”

Wren hunched her shoulders and nodded, looking thoroughly chastised. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He smiled and gave her a pat on the head to cheer her up, then glanced at his half-finished speech. “Okay. Why don’t you go wait in the lobby with Mommy and Beatrice? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

She pursed her lips. “Mommy’s just gonna mess with my hair again.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Mommy’s specialty. She messes with everyone’s hair.” Greg flicked her pointed bangs, planted a kiss right over them, then turned her around and gave her pat on the small of her back. “Tell her I like your hair just how it is, and maybe she’ll let you off the hook.”

Wren appeared unimpressed. “She’ll just want to fix it even more if she knows _you_ like it.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot?” He tried, nudging her towards the door. “Yeah, I know. You’re fighting a losing battle. But in a way, so’s she.”

“So why is she wasting both of our times?” she complained, but obediently shuffled out of the bathroom with a heavy sigh.

Greg shook his head, then caught himself as he almost ran his fingers through his hair again. He quickly smoothed it down, then grabbed his pencil and pushed the paper against the wall. Now to finish his speech…

-0-

It wasn’t the neatest looking speech, he reflected as he tucked the folded up sheet of paper into the inside of his tux, but it wasn’t like they were planning on laminating it. The hotel lobby was considerably emptier than it had been when he’d scurried through the throng of family members and into the bathroom by the front desk. The bridesmaids had vanished, including his oldest daughter and his wife. The parents all seemed to have left as well, he didn’t see his mom or dad anywhere. Greg’s heart sped up a little and he checked his watch. No, no, there was still time. He wasn’t too late. Probably the least prepared of everyone in the wedding party, but that wasn’t the point.

“There you are, Greg!” One of Wirt’s friends – a professor in the English department at Boston University – and a fellow groomsman waved him over. “We thought you got lost in there!”

“Ha, yeah…” He forced a grin as he side-stepped them, avoiding their questions by checking on his youngest daughter.

“You do get lost a lot, Daddy,” Wren piped up when he sat beside her. “Uncle Wirt says you’re _always_ running off.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “So when did they leave?”

“Mm-mm-mm.” She shrugged. “I still don’t have a watch.”

“Right.” Greg scanned the thinning crowd, everyone planning their carpools to the church. “Okay. Want to go check on the groom? Tell him the coast’s clear?”

“Yeah!” Wren flashed him a bright smile, then hopped off the lobby chair.

The two of them squeezed past the rest of the group. “Excuse us. Pardon us. Official Best Man and Flower Girl business to take care of, yes, yes,” Greg hummed, pitching his voice lower to make his daughter giggle. “Clear a path to the elevators! Best Man and Flower Girl, coming through.”

He pretended to race his daughter for the button that would take them up, groaning when he lost to her. When the doors slid open, he let her in first, then followed. They scanned the set of buttons on the inside of the door.

“Now, which floor was Uncle Wirt’s room on again?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully and looked to Wren for the answer.

She knew which one it was, was ready to point it out, but she hesitated and glanced between him and the buttons. He waited out her sudden indecision, then beamed when she finally pointed to the number three. He nodded and gave her a thumbs up. She pushed the button, then grabbed onto his hand as the elevator doors shut.

Her hold was tight and clammy. He rubbed his thumb in small circles over the back of her hand until her grip became less of a vice. When the elevator dinged, Greg counted to three, then the two of them hopped out together.

“Okay, do you remember which way Uncle Wirt’s room is?” Greg asked.

She nodded, keeping her hold on his hand with one and her flower basket with the other. She pointed with the basket to the left of the elevator, but waited for him to take the lead before she started walking. When they arrived at Wirt’s room, he gave his permission and she knocked out a little tune on the door.

The door flew open not seconds after. “What took you so- Wren! Hey, sweetheart. Well, don’t you look beautiful?”

So he might have had ulterior motives bringing Wren up with him. Greg grinned as his older brother’s panicked tirade immediately lost steam at the sight of his little niece. Despite being decked out in his neatly pressed tux, Wirt crouched down in front of her to smile brightly and tapped the flower pin holding her hair back.

“I like your flower,” he told her.

“I like yours, too,” she replied, pointing to the maroon boutonniere clipped to his tuxedo jacket.

The amaryllis matched the one pinned in Wren’s and the other bridesmaids’ hair. Wirt flicked his gaze up at Greg as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, both thanking him and cursing him in the same glance. With a shrug that hopefully came off as nonchalant, Greg sidled past him into the room, only to blink as he realized Wirt had not been alone.

The photographer’s assistant was set up near the window, camera out and focused on the pair of golden wedding bands sitting on a cloth on top of the dresser. “This is what you’ve been doing?” Greg lifted an eyebrow as he watched his brother lead Wren into the room. “Staging the rings for their own little photo shoot?”

Wirt sighed heavily, waving at the assistant who smiled sheepishly. “Apparently if the bride has to have every moment of today documented then I do, too. It just didn’t take me very long to get ready and since you were taking your sweet time getting up here, we had some time to kill.”

Greg grinned. “Well, you will definitely have the most beautiful pictures of inanimate objects that any wedding has ever seen.”

“Don’t make me regret inviting you,” Wirt warned him as he checked his appearance in the mirror for what was probably the billionth time. “Just because you made me your best man does not mean that I had to return the favor.”

“Like you know anyone as cool as me.” Greg waited for the go-ahead from the photographer’s assistant, then carefully placed the rings in their box so he could tuck it in his pocket.

Yeah, the only thing more terrifying than his speech now weighed heavily on his person. He took a deep breath while Wirt wasn’t looking, then exchanged glances with Wren who was back to watching him curiously. He flashed her his best grin, then turned back to Wirt and held his arm out to him. His older brother glanced at him and rolled his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips as he was continuously elbowed in the side. With a huff, Wirt linked arms with him. Greg beamed proudly when Wirt held his free hand out to Wren, giving her a little twirl that she delighted in.

“Ready, Groom?” Greg asked when Wirt scooped up his niece to balance her on his hip.

“Ready, Best Man,” he agreed. “What about you, Flower Girl?”

Wren picked out one petal from her basket and blew it softly into Wirt’s face. He scrunched up his nose as it fluttered past it, then he laughed and kissed her forehead, right over her bangs.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” He flashed her a grin.

“It’s a yes,” she confirmed.

“Good. Because I think we’re paying the limo by the hour.”

“You are,” Greg confirmed. “And I picked the company with the most expensive rates just so you know.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. This was the only one that offered sparkling cider in their fancy limo fridge.”

-0-

The ceremony and reception were at the same location. Lake Pearl was a popular wedding destination in Massachusetts, though not so much on the fringe of October when the weather was as unpredictable as Wirt’s mood swings. Still, they were lucky. The sky was overcast, but a generic gray gloom rather than swollen and heavy with the ominous promise of rain.

After they left the limo, Wirt disappeared. Greg couldn’t blame him. Even though he didn’t have a lot of groomsmen, he knew his older brother well enough that sometimes he just wanted to be by himself. Though, by himself almost always meant that it was okay for Greg to tag along, too. Being thirty-three and forty-two didn’t change their dynamic in the slightest.

He left Wren in the care of Beatrice once he’d tracked his daughter down, then set off to find him before the photographer or wedding coordinator did. As uptight as Wirt could get when stressed, he had nothing on the wedding coordinator they’d hired, though she was probably just making up for how not stressed the bride and groom had been about the whole thing. The wedding was more a formality than anything, though the fact that Wirt was a romantic had something to do with that, too.

Greg found him overlooking the lake. “You know, for pretty much hating all bodies of water larger than a bathtub and smaller than the ocean, you sure picked the worst place to have your wedding,” he announced his presence with no preamble and clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Wirt snorted. “I’m not getting married in the middle of the lake, Greg. The ceremony is on dry land and the reception is inside.”

“Still, I know I’m not the only one who thought you lost your mind when you decided, ‘hey, here’s an idea, let’s get married at Lake Pearl Luciano’s!’”

“You are aware that we literally lived in a town called Lakeville for our entire childhoods, right? Where there were plenty of lakes around us every day?” Wirt asked him, finally looking away from the water to raise an eyebrow.

Greg waved it off. “Yeah, but that wasn’t by choice and you didn’t have to look at the lake every day. You willingly decided to have the biggest, most important day of your life on the shore of a lake.”

This had his brother’s lips quirking up with that secret little smile of his, the one where he knew something Greg didn’t and would gladly hold it over his head to the grave. “It just felt right.”

“Hm.” He puffed out his cheeks, then laughed when Wirt flicked one of them. “If you say so.”

“That’s right. I do say so.”

“You’re about to say I do in a bit. You ready?”

Wirt softened, and Greg couldn’t deny that his big brother certainly pulled off the romantic, dashing hero-type all decked out in his finest. That or a secret agent. No wonder all Wirt’s students had massive crushes on him. And of course it didn’t help when he recited poetry at them.

“I’ve been ready for a long time. Longer than there’ve been stars up in the heavens, I’ve been ready to say I do.”

Greg nodded. “That’s nice. You just come up with that?”

“Sort of? It’s mostly from a song,” Wirt confessed with a sheepish grin.

“Speaking of songs…”

“No, Greg.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“There you two are.” They both turned to see Nova striding up to them, the dark-haired woman crossing her arms over her indigo dress as she surveyed them. “Your absences are creating quite the scene and the wedding coordinator is not just about to have a cow, she’s ready to give birth to the entire farm,” she told them seriously, then broke out into a huge grin. “It’s pretty hilarious. Jonathan’s filming the whole thing if you want to watch it later. Though honestly, you guys really do need to be at the gazebo like… yesterday.”

Greg flashed her a huge smile, taking her hand when she offered it to him and kissed her cheek. “ _Piqpavagin_.”

“I love you, too, dork. Now stop sucking up to me and let’s go.” She tugged him along after her, sending Wirt a look of warning. “You can daydream later, Professor Poet.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Wirt promised her with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Nova, we’ll be there in a minute,” Greg echoed and his wife rolled her eyes while Wirt laughed again.

“No, Greg, you go with her. I’m honestly not going to be here much longer.” When Greg opened his mouth to protest, Wirt held up his hand to stop him. “Seriously. I just need a minute and then I’ll be ready for pictures or standing around the gazebo or whatever it is people need me to do.”

While still hesitant to leave him, Greg nodded all the same. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

His brother waved him away. “I’m sure. Go handle crowd control for me and do other… best man things.”

Greg saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain Wirt.”

He and Nova left Wirt on the edge of the lake, though he was unable to help glancing over his shoulder as they got further and further away. Thoughtfulness and quiet contemplation were not unfamiliar traits of his brother’s, and on the day of his wedding he couldn’t blame him for wanting the time to himself, to compose himself and steel himself for mingling with people for hours on end.

While keeping it small had been an option, just going to the courthouse to sign the marriage license something both bride and groom were open to, they’d decided to go all out, for their families. To give them the memories and the opportunity to fawn over them. When it came to family, Wirt was incredibly selfless and sacrificed everything-

As they strolled along the path to the gazebo, decked out in maroon and cream with clusters of flowers and ribbons, Greg felt for the inside of his pocket and pulled out his speech. He didn’t have time to rewrite it now, but…

But was it what he wanted to say? Today of all days? Wirt’s day?

Nova placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re still freaking out about the speech. You know it’s just a formality, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Greg nodded, flashing her a grin. “I’m just checking to make sure I didn’t lose it, that’s all.”

She hummed, arching an eyebrow and he knew she didn’t believe him, but she left it at that. “He’s not gonna stop being your brother just because he’s getting married. You didn’t when you married me, right? Now go do best man things. I’ve got a flower girl and bridesmaid to check on and make sure they’re ready to go.”

Greg watched her head over to the wedding party, his smile fading a little. Of course he’d still be his brother. That went without question. They were adults, they’d been through the very darkest of places together and the very brightest. Wirt wouldn’t care if his speech was perfect or not, he decided as he slid it back into his pocket beside the box with the rings.

But Greg would.

-0-

Despite Wirt almost being late – “Almost is the key word, Greg.” – the ceremony had gone off without a hitch. After their parents had been escorted in, Greg taking their mom down and Wirt taking his soon-to-be-mother-in-law, both settled on the stage of the gazebo. As the bridesmaids started down the aisle, the proud dad in him beamed brightly as he watched Beatrice walk towards them. A quick glance at Wirt revealed to him that his older brother felt the same way, tears even springing to his eyes when his oldest niece - the one he’d helped raise from birth, tucked into bed every night without fail, and learned how to braid hair just for her when Greg couldn’t manage it - grinned at him.

Beatrice might have been Greg’s daughter, but she was Wirt’s princess, his little girl.

Little Wren followed them, her basket of flowers clutched tightly in one hand as she dropped the petals behind her. She hesitated when she saw how far she had to go and all the guests turned in their seats to snap pictures of his adorable baby, despite her wide-eyed fear. She didn’t like to be noticed.

Greg felt Wirt stiffen a little, and knew his brother was about to stride right down the aisle to walk with her to the front, but Beatrice beat him to it. She hurried to meet her little sister and placed her hand at the small of her back. As the girls resumed walking, Wren relaxed exponentially and was able to smile as she tossed the petals to the floor. Wirt knelt down when she made it to him, and he gave her a tight squeeze before letting her get into position.

Then the bride stepped out and Greg watched Wirt’s face absolutely glow.

Sara looked radiant. Her smile was huge as her gaze met Wirt’s, her bouquet of flowers in varying shades of red clutched close to her chest. She gave a little wave and bounce, then the music swelled and she took her first steps towards her husband-to-be. Her lace and ivory gown blossomed out in the skirt, trailing over the small burgundy and cream petals that led the way to Wirt.

Greg couldn’t stop grinning. This moment had been long coming, too long. He’d imagined this day from the time he was seven, firm in his belief that this would happen. This day was something that was meant to be. Wirt and Sara were.

Their hands joined, hers quick to squeeze Wirt’s as she smiled softly at him. He kissed the back of her hand, the one thing he was allowed until the officiator declared man and wife and then they were lost to one another as the guests erupted into a wild round of applause. Their mom had teared up and his dad was crying, Greg noticed as he clapped loudest of all, and Wirt was laughing against Sara’s lips while she cupped his cheeks.

Everyone filed from the lawn to the Tree Top Room, overlooking the lake with its wide, clear windows. Everyone that wasn’t the wedding party, that is. They had to take pictures. When Wren got fidgety, Nova took her aside to find some hors d'oeuvres and save some for the wedding party, well-aware that they were going to have a hard time actually enjoying the food they’d picked out when after pictures came the mandatory greetings.

Greg remembered it all too well from his own wedding, and Nova had been extremely disappointed to find that all the stuffed mushrooms she’d been looking forward to eating had been gone by the time they had a second to try the food. When they filed back inside, the bride and groom making their grand entrance as husband and wife, both Wirt and Sara looked far too relieved at the sight of the plates Nova set aside for them. Sara didn’t waste any time grabbing herself some bruschetta.

Then it was time for the first toast. The best man’s toast.

As everyone took their seats at their assigned tables, the band ceased playing and nodded in Greg’s direction. He took a deep breath as the chatter of the room softened, then removed his folded up paper from his pocket and stood, attracting everyone’s attention. Never one to shy away from an audience, Greg offered them a grin and a wave as he went up to take the microphone.

“Hey, everyone, how’s it going?” he started, and received a few cheers and whistles. “Enjoying the most expensive pieces of toast and bacon that you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing? Good, good. I picked those. I mean, my job as the best man is to make sure the groom here makes good decisions, not necessarily financially sound ones. Though we do share a mortgage still, so I guess in hindsight I might not want to make him declare bankruptcy just yet, so in exchange for the lovely appetizers, we’re skipping dinner. Sorry, guys, that was it. Just wasn’t in the budget.”

The room laughed and he chuckled along with them, glancing down at his speech. “So, Wirt and Sara…” His gaze skimmed the first line of his speech, palms clammy and voice tight with a sort of stage fright he just wasn’t used to. “Wirt and Sara…”

His eyes went to the head table, where the bridal party, including the bride and groom were sat at. Wirt was grinning at him, delighting in his nerves no doubt after decades of being teased for them himself, and Sara smile encouragingly, ever the big sister. Greg crumpled up his speech and shoved it in his pocket. Forget planned speeches.

“Wirt and Sara,” he tried again, shaking his head as he looked out at their families and friends. “You know, I called this day when I was seven? Always knew it would come sooner or later, and boy, did you guys take your sweet time in reaching the inevitable. They started dating when they were fifteen, for all you folks that missed the rehearsal dinner yesterday and the slideshow that accompanied it. High school sweethearts that called it off for college, then called it back on during college, then called it off again after college- I think you get the idea.

“You see, my brother isn’t really an action kind of guy. He tries, but for a long time he was content to be a person who reacted to things. Which is cool, I mean, we can’t always be action heroes, and sometimes it’s nice to just go with the flow and see where you end up. I think a lot of Wirt’s life was letting other people set his course while he went along for the ride.

“When he was twenty-one he decided to propose to Sara. I know because he confided in me and made me promise not to tell anyone. Since they’re married now, I figure I don’t have to be held to that anymore. Anyway, he decided to propose, but the day he went to ask her to marry him was the day she told him she was moving to Italy for grad school. Timing has never been something that has worked in my brother’s favor.

“She asked him to go with her, to move with her to Italy. He said no. I said he was an idiot. After spending so much time worrying about asking her to marry him, deciding that it would be worth it to spend the rest of his life with her, he made the choice not to go with her. Because it was too far. Because he didn’t speak the language. Because it was a crucial time in my life that he didn’t want to miss out on. All excuses that I thought were to prevent him from acting, from going for something that he really wanted. I thought he was holding himself back.

“It took me a while to realize that his refusal was him acting. Going with Sara wasn’t the tough choice. Staying was. And I treated him terribly for making that choice, for making me feel like I was his burden, that I was keeping him from his happily ever after.

“I thought that a lot. Whenever I needed him, good or bad, he was always there, ready and willing to put his life on hold for me. He’d drop everything for me. And that turned into dropping everything for my daughters.

“What took me a long time to understand was that he wasn’t giving up his life for mine, for theirs. We were his life. He chose us. He said yes to us. To me. He made the decision to be there for his family because that was all he ever wanted. A place to belong. Once he told me that he felt like he was a boat on a winding river, drifting out towards an endless black sea, farther away from where he wanted to be. Who he wanted to be. We all want a place to belong, we all want to mean something to someone. We don’t want to feel insignificant, like our lives are meaningless. For my brother, who felt displaced in his own family from the day he realized one parent wanted him and the other didn’t, all he wanted was to feel like he belonged in his family.

“He didn’t want fame. He didn’t want money or expensive furniture or fancy vacations. He still doesn’t, though I’m pretty sure after putting up with me and my girls for all these years, a vacation probably sounds pretty nice. But my brother wanted a family, and he wanted to be reliable and constant for his family. He knew, even at twenty-one, that if he couldn’t be that, then he couldn’t be a good husband.

“But the thing was, Wirt, you were reliable and constant. There was never a day in my life where I didn’t feel loved by you. Where I didn’t love you.” Greg met his brother’s gaze, tearing up only when he saw the dampness reflected in Wirt’s eyes. “You will always have a place to belong with me, and you always have. You’ve always been my big brother. I don’t know a world without you in it. You know that all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, to be free to live your life and love every minute of it.

“Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Thank you for being the one to pick me up whenever I felt I couldn’t go any further. Thank you for being Wirt Palmer, best-selling poet, professor extraordinaire, world’s best uncle, and the most incredible big brother any sibling could ask for. Sara, you’re getting yourself one heck of a husband. He will never let you down. I can personally guarantee that. Once you’ve gained Wirt’s love, it’s pretty impossible to ever lose it. And that’s a rock fact. Here’s to the two of you, Wirt and Sara. This has been a long time coming, and I hope you have a long time together to come. Congratulations. I love you both. Now eat your gold-encrusted appetizers before the rest of the food gets here.”

Greg turned off the microphone and handed it off to the band as he sipped his champagne. The applause that followed his toast was embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as Wirt immediately rising from his seat to cross the space between them in the middle of the cheers going around and drag him into a hug. It was embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough to keep Greg from clinging to him, hugging back just as tightly while a chorus of “awww”s rang about the room around them.

“And you call me the sap,” Wirt murmured just for him to hear.

“You are. We’ve lived together for too long, you’ve infected me with it.”

With a laugh, Wirt rubbed his back before pulling away to grin tearfully at him. “I love you, too, Greg.”

“Please don’t cry. I’m gonna feel bad if I make you cry at your own wedding.”

“Don’t feel bad, Greg. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Sara piped up, joining them so she could get in her own hug. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“There’s no one else I’d trust more with that task,” he replied with mock-seriousness, though he was a little serious about that.

Wirt rolled his eyes. “I feel like I’m the one being given away here. By my little brother, no less.”

“You kinda are,” Sara told him with a chuckle.

“You absolutely are,” Greg agreed. 

“You two are impossible.” Wirt shook his head, pout forming on his lips only to brighten into a grin as his nieces hurried over, wanting a picture of just the two of them with their Uncle Wirt. 

Greg and Sara exchanged fond looks as the trio clutched at each other, Wren hoisted up with one arm while the other wrapped around Beatrice as they smiled for the camera. Wirt gave both of them a kiss on the cheek after the shutter clicked, then glanced over his shoulder at his bride and best man. With a jerk of his head, he tried to get them over to him. 

“C’mon, you two. And Nova. Nova, come here! We need a family picture!” Wirt called out to Greg’s wife. 

Greg burst out laughing when she sighed dramatically. “We already took a family picture,” she complained, but strode over to them nonetheless. 

“Well, we’re taking another one. Stand next to Greg and try and look like you love him.”

“I don’t know if I can manage that.”

“I love you, too, Nova.” Greg grinned, pulling her close when she was within reach, his other hand resting against Beatrice’s back as the six of them pressed together for their family photo, with Sara on one side of Wirt and Greg and his family on the other, Wren still in his arms. This was their family. Finally complete. 

Not necessarily according to plan, but sometimes plans needed to be scrapped in favor of something better. Something new. Something perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally get to introduce Greg's kids! Beatrice and Wren! And Greg's lovely wife, Nova. For those wondering, Greg is saying "I love you" in Iñupiaq because Nova hails from Northern Alaska, though she spent most of her childhood in Boston. They met when Greg started playing gigs at the bar she and her twin brother, Newt, own. One day I will tell their story... one day...
> 
> Also, just as a note, I love researching weddings and planning them. I'm gonna get to do it again with Wirt and Dipper in Mystery Best Friends 'verse and I'm super excited, so that's probably why I wanted to push and get this out there. Also because it's been months. Literally months. I think I got this prompt in December and started writing it immediately. It is now one day from September. How did this happen?


End file.
